Liberation
by Niente Zero
Summary: Sequel to Protection. Fraser chooses getting the girl over going after the bad guy for once in his life. How about that! But there are consequences, and finding a balance between love and duty could be tricky, not to mention perilous! Meg/Ben
1. Wake Up

**Note: This story takes place immediately following my previous story _Protection_. It won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read _Protection. _The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own anything, I don't make money from it, I just like telling stories. This story is much more focused on people and relationships than action, although I hope the crime solving is satisfactory! I hope you enjoy, and please review and let me know what you think. I love hearing peoples' responses, and I really do find them very helpful!****  
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**o-O-o-O-o**

Take my hand,

Don't think of obligations

Now, right now,

Your love is liberation

To free in me

The trust, I never dared

I always thought the risk too great

But suddenly, I don't hesitate, so

Take my hand,

Don't think of complications

Now, right now,

Your love is liberation

_Liberation_ - Pet Shop Boys

**  
****o-O-o-O-o**

**Chapter 1 - Wake Up**

The soft drape of dark hair on the pillow next to his head was a surprise. Benton Fraser in his half-waking state panicked for a moment. Dark hair. Was it- could she have returned? Victoria? He blinked and rubbed his eyes and the evening before rushed back to him as he realized the dark hair was straight and smooth, not a mass of medusa-like curls, and this woman in his bed most definitely was not the one who wanted to harm him. No, this woman in his bed, rumpled up into one of his flannel shirts to sleep, breathing so softly and peacefully, this was his commanding officer.

Which in itself was enough to make Benton prop himself up on his elbows and wrinkle his brow with worry. They'd talked about why they shouldn't fall in love. Then they'd let their feelings, the wave of chemistry and longing, overrun them. And now? Well, he had no idea how she felt, but he couldn't make love in every meaning of the word and wake up and pretend that nothing had happened. He'd just made a commitment.

Margaret Thatcher rolled over and opened her eyes, looking up sleepily at Benton's troubled face.

"You're thinking. No thinking." she murmured. She wrapped her arms around him persuasively. The worried expression was replaced with a soft smile on his face as he curled back down into the bed with her. Not that he wasn't attractive with his lower lip curved into the shadow of a pout. On the contrary, every different angle of his face seemed to highlight a new loveliness. But Meg wasn't ready to relinquish the giddy joy of waking up next to him to the hard realities of the morning after.

Meg had some ideas of how to keep him from brooding. His reaction to her touch was a constant delight. She was still realizing that the stiff, uptight posture was for public consumption. Not that it was a false image of who he was, just an incomplete one. In private, in the most intimate moments, he was not withdrawn or repressed at all. He, in turn, seemed to relish the way her body responded to him, the way even a simple nuzzle into her neck could make her shiver with pleasure.

A full fifteen minutes of sleepy snuggling and necking passed before Fraser realized that he wasn't being pestered for breakfast by a certain vociferous half-wolf. Which lead him to the question of just where Diefenbaker was, and when he had left the apartment. He pulled himself reluctantly from Meg's arms, and rubbed his face.

"I seem to have misplaced my wolf." he said. He stood up. Meg looked at his boxer-short clad body with open admiration. She could, now. Lying in his bed, she wasn't hiding how she felt behind layers of serge and duty.

Fraser noticed the note that Ray had left under his door the previous night.

"Oh." He blushed red to the roots of his hair. "It would appear that Detective Vecchio stopped by some time last night and took Diefenbaker with him." He didn't know what to expect from Meg's reaction, but he wasn't expecting laughter.

"You're not angry?" he said.

"No." She got out of the bed and stretched. It was his turn to admire her slim frame in his buttoned shirt. It swam on her, but it was somehow alluring. "Detective Vecchio's a grown man. I'm sure he wasn't too shocked. And I'm sure he'll be discreet about it."

"That's probably true." Benton said.

"He'd do anything for you. But I expect he'll feel the need to tease you." She was still smiling, relaxed, as she opened his fridge door and pulled out a carton of juice.

"Glasses?" she asked.

He reached around her, the note still in his hand, and opened a cupboard door. It was nice to stand so close to her without worrying about what she might think he was thinking. Especially since he _was_ thinking the things she might think he'd be thinking, and his body language was amply demonstrating this, to which she responded with a teasing brush of her body against his before getting the glasses out.

She poured two glasses of juice and handed him one.

"About last night," Meg began.

Benton sipped his juice, a guarded expression moving across his face.

"You said you didn't have the right to fight for me." Meg said. "I'm not going to ask you to."

Benton didn't let anything show in his eyes, but he felt his stomach churn. That was it? It was a one night stand and she was done?

"It's not like that!" Meg said, reading him better than he expected. "It's just that it's not fair for me to expect that because you're the man you'll come sailing in and make everything all right. No, damn it, Benton Fraser, I know what I want now, and I know you want it too, and I'm going to fight for you."

Her gaze was direct. It almost scared him. She did know what she wanted, and she wanted him, in spite of all the obstacles. And in spite of - he knew he was blushing again as the thought entered his mind, and he knew he shouldn't ask, but he wouldn't be comfortable if he thought she was settling for less than what she deserved.

"So. Last night. It was all right?" Benton said, quickly looking away from her and examining his juice glass as if staring closely at it would reveal all the answers to his questions.

Meg put her glass down and stepped close to him, taking his glass away too. She put her hands on his arms.

"It was more than all right. You have nothing to worry about." she said.

"It's just that - I don't normally-" he fell silent.

"What?" she teased. "Go to bed on the first date?"

"No. Uh. Date. At all. Really."

"Benton." Meg shook her head with a smile. "It had not escaped my notice that for a good looking man, you aren't exactly Casanova. And I do. Date. As you well know. And you have nothing to be worried about."

Their lovemaking had been necessarily gentle and careful because of his physical state, but that didn't mean it hadn't been beautiful, that it hadn't taken Meg to a higher place with him.

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him into a long, slow kiss to demonstrate the sincerity of her statement.

When they pulled apart, Fraser said, "I'm sorry to be so terribly unromantic, but I really should contact Ray. May I-?"

"That would be fine." she agreed. Of course, he didn't have a phone. Fortunately, in her capacious purse which she'd managed to drop by the door on her way in the night before, she had her cell phone. The purse had wandered during the evening when she'd had to scour it for a certain necessary item, and she found it by the bed. She fished the phone out. It still seemed to have plenty of battery life.

Meg decided that she'd have to see to it that he got a phone. It was one thing to be frustrated and irritated at not being able to contact her subordinate, another thing entirely not to be able to find the risk-taker she had serious feelings for. Because not being able to reach him would not so much be irritating now as potentially terrifying.

Fraser dialed Ray's number.

"Hello? Benny, geez, it's eight a.m. on a Saturday, and I left you in the arms of a beautiful woman. Where's the fire?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah. Ray. I'm sorry about last night. I just thought that you might not want Diefenbaker hanging around for too long."

"He weighs a ton. Since when did you tell him it was all right to sleep on the bed?" Ray grumbled.

"I'll have a word with him." Fraser said.

"Okay, well, how about I bring him over and then we can get some breakfast." Ray said. "Uh, Inspector Thatcher too, if she's still there." It was awkward but he didn't want Fraser to feel like he had to hide his love life away because he was afraid of Ray's disapproval. That could only lead to trouble. It had only lead to disaster before.

"I'll ask her." Fraser said. "I'll see you soon."

He ended the call and handed the phone back to Meg. "He's coming over. He invited us to breakfast." He blushed again. "I imagine I just confirmed his understanding that you spent the night. I'm sorry."

Meg shook her head impatiently. "I don't mind that." she said. "Until we can work out what we're doing, there may have to be some, for want of a better term, misdirection. But I am not embarrassed that your best friend knows I was here. Trust me, I understand how close you two are!"

She put the phone back in the purse. "But I should probably be going. Is there somewhere I could get cleaned up?"

Fraser found yet one more thing to be mortified by. His shoulders drooped.

"I share a bathroom." he said. "Quite literally a _bath_room. I don't think there's a single functioning shower in the building. I'm sorry."

"Look, would you stop apologizing for your life?" Meg snapped. "Apparently I want to be a part of it. That means I value you for who you are. Even if who you are is frequently inexplicable!"

She was immediately ashamed of losing her temper with him so soon after the beginning of their - whatever this was - relationship? She sighed.

"I'm sorry." she said. "I should be going. Maybe, if you're free tonight, we could have an actual, proper date? I'll pick you up around seven?" She did her best to make it a request, with no hint of an order. It didn't come easily.

"That would be nice." Fraser said. He wanted to add that he'd miss her during the rest of the day, but he didn't want to scare her away by seeming clingy. He settled for a light kiss on her cheek.

Thatcher quickly threw back on the clothes she'd been wearing the night before and ran her fingers through her hair. She stopped in the doorway to turn and smile at him. "I- I'll see you tonight."

Meg ran into Ray on the stairs leading down from Fraser's apartment.

"Ah, Inspector Thatcher. Fancy seeing you here." Ray was wearing an unsettling smile. It was more menacing than the average scowl, promising a world of pain for anyone who crossed him. "Perhaps you'll walk with me a moment." He turned around, Dief still following him, to walk down the stairs with her.

"Detective. Was there something I could help you with?" Thatcher said coolly. It was hard to appear as composed as she'd like with her hair unbrushed and her makeup off, but her frosty attitude made up for it.

"You could say that." Ray said. "Listen, I don't imagine Benny's said a whole lot about the last woman who he was with. But I'll tell you she was bad news. And I'll tell you another thing. You might be into whatever, casual this, easy that, but he's not. So if you're just messing around, you be careful. You break his heart, you have me to answer to."

By this point in his speech. Ray had Meg backed against the wall of the landing, and his eyes were blazing, even though the taut smile was still painted across his face.

"Not that it's any of your business, Detective," Meg hissed, "But I have no intention of breaking anyone's heart. And you need to learn to back off. Benton is a grown man. I know you're his friend, but you don't get to choose what risks he takes."

Ray backed a step away. He noticed that Diefenbaker was poised ready to intervene if he'd got any more heated. He realized he'd been way out of line.

"I'm sorry. It's just that the last time just about killed Benny. I won't, I _will not_, stand by and watch someone do that to him again."

"I think you've made your point clear, Detective. He's lucky to have a friend who cares so much." Meg said, more warmly. "For his sake, we should probably start on a fresh page. We don't have to be best friends, but I suppose we should make an effort to get along."

"Sure." Ray said. "We both want what's best for him, I guess. Just remember what I said." He held out his hand, and Meg shook it. For Fraser's sake she'd make peace with him, even if he was seriously pushing his luck with her. Having seen Francesca Vecchio, the thought crossed her mind that maybe the heavy older brother act was ingrained in him at this point.

"Listen," Ray said, "I know they cleared you to leave the safe house, but I'd feel better if you weren't running around on your own while Loman's still out there. Let me call up an escort for you." He grinned slyly, finding that he had new tools that he could bring to bear in keeping the stubbornly independent woman safe. "You know it's what Benny would want."

Thatcher raised her eyebrows and then sighed. "That's not fair. But, fine. I haven't had a chance to go home yet, and it would probably be smart to have someone check it out, after last time."

Ray called dispatch and got a patrol car assigned to meet Thatcher at Fraser's building and follow her back to her apartment.

"Ready for breakfast?"

Fraser was dressed and was washing out the glasses that he and Meg had just used when Ray arrived at his door.

"Good morning, Ray, Diefenbaker. Yes, I'll just be a moment."

The wolf slipped into the apartment and started sniffing around curiously.

Fraser set down the glasses and turned to Ray.

"Thank you for taking care of Diefenbaker."

Ray felt nervous. His friend's manner was not exactly warm. Fraser might not often flare up into outright anger but he could be chilling in his politeness when the situation called for it. Usually, Ray wasn't on the receiving end.

"Did I happen to hear you arguing with Inspector Thatcher on your way up?" Fraser said.

Oh, yeah. Mountie hearing. Ray sighed.

"Uhh, we sorted it out, Benny."

"I appreciate your concern for me, but I can take care of myself."

Ray stepped closer to his friend. "Listen, I know I was over the line." he said "But that doesn't mean I don't worry about you. Things have been tense, and sometimes in the heat of the moment people do things, people think they feel things, mistakes happen..."

"I don't think it's like that, Ray." Fraser said. "I know, on the train," he smiled slightly as Ray shook his head, "well, on the train we might have been carried away by the moment. But this is more than that."

Fraser really wasn't in the mood to explain further. He rubbed his forehead. "Well, shall we go and eat?"

Diefenbaker barked his immediate approval of this suggestion.

"Sure." Ray said. But internally he added, "But you're not getting out of talking about this that easily, Benny, my friend." This was _not_ going to be another Victoria situation, even if he had to drag information out of the Mountie.


	2. Gentlemen Prefer Crabs 'n' Things

**Chapter 2 - Gentlemen Prefer ... Crabs 'n' Things?!**

Over breakfast at the local diner, Ray talked about what was going on in the search for Loman. Fraser contributed his insights, but it was obvious that what was going to be needed was a lot of footwork.

"Normally I'd say, let's hit the streets after we're done here." Ray said. "This time I might have to be happy the FBI is on the case, because you gotta take it easy a few more days, Benny. You're looking pretty rough."

Fraser swallowed some painkillers with a glass of water. The pain in his side had been significantly lessened when he'd been otherwise distracted with Meg, but it had returned with a vengeance now. Having part of a rib turn into shrapnel from the bullet that had torn across the side of his body left a hefty dose of bruising and inflammation. In an unpleasant state of affairs, the need to breathe caused a chronic low level of burning discomfort, punctuated by flares of stabbing sensations that radiated out from the center of the damaged area if he moved wrong, which seemed to mean anything more radical than the most gentle of motions.

On top of that, and a seriously minor but nonetheless irritating observation, his stitches were itching like the dickens. It frustrated him to have to concede that he was not in his best master-criminal chasing form. As delicious as the idea was, he doubted he could get Meg's tender attentions on prescription, no matter how much better they were at easing his pain than the little white pills.

"Perhaps I'll be fitter for the job on Monday." he said, with a brooding expression. "Although I hope that the Bureau has picked him up by then. I can't believe that he's gone to ground so successfully."

"The kind of money Loman's got will get you a long way." Ray said, folding his napkin and setting it to the side of the plate. "Anyway, the Bureau agents are already hard at it. I saw one of them read through your statement something like three times yesterday afternoon. If there's anything to go on, they'll find him. 'Course, I figure if there was anything to go on in your statement you and I would have seen it, but at least they're trying."

Fraser was picking at his food and still had the furrowed-browed expression on his face. He answered Ray with a barely attentive "Mmm."

"Don't worry, we'll get him." Ray said. "You know, we always do."

"It's not that." Fraser said. Part of him didn't want to talk about it, but Ray, at least, was safe to open up to.

"Come Monday, when I'm back on active duty, I just don't see how I'm going to be able to continue pursuing whatever it is that I'm pursuing with Inspect- with Meg. As a commissioned officer, she's not supposed to fraternize with a subordinate. It could ruin her career."

"So what, you're considering giving up on her?"

"She said she'd fight for me, Ray. But her career has been everything to her. It wouldn't be fair for me to put it in jeopardy. We could probably hide things for a while, but if it came out, anyone who had a grudge against her could use the knowledge to hurt her. And besides, I don't want to sneak around. You know me, Ray. That would be... " he pressed his lips together, suppressing frustration.

"I can't stand it, these rules are supposed to be there to protect me. I don't want to be protected, but they are what they are."

Ray breathed out through his nose in a sound of irritation. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Benny. Seriously. Remember how there was one time when you were going to throw everything away and get on a train with a known felon who'd just tried to set you up and ruin your life?"

Fraser looked at him with haunted eyes. "I could hardly forget that, Ray. I can't understand why you'd throw that in my face."

"Listen. Listen to me. You were prepared to stop being you for the love of that one. You going to let a few stupid _rules_ stop you in your tracks here? Do you know how many people fall in love with their bosses? A lot, millions, that's how many. If you really care for Inspector Thatcher, isn't it worth bending the damned stupid rules, Benny?"

Fraser considered this, his eyes wide.

"Do you love her? Really love her?"

Fraser looked down at his plate. "Ray, it's too soon to say. Like you pointed out, the last time I fell in love, I nearly threw away my honor, my career, my friendship with you, everything important to me. I'm not ready to let myself go-" He gulped back a strangled sound of emotion.

"But I do know that I care for her deeply. I know that if I let myself, if I-"

He stopped. He'd opened up as far as he could.

Ray comprehended. Fraser was definitely head over heels, but he was scared, clinging fiercely to the illusion of control. Ray wasn't about to take it away from him.

The waiter picked that strategic moment to interject with "Say, you guys want pie? Chef baked a beautiful apple pie this morning, and what could be better for Saturday breakfast?" as he cleared the empty plate in front of Ray and the picked at one from Fraser's side of the table. For all his laconic and generally unsentimental nature, the waiter quite liked the young Mountie with the usually hearty appetite, and it distressed him to see him pale and picking at his food. Pie would fix that.

Ray looked at the amount of food Fraser had left untouched. "Yeah, pie would be great." he said.

When the waiter brought out two plates of pie, Ray said, "Now, I know you're getting tired of me getting in your face, but for god's sake, Benny, eat."

Fraser realized that he was actually very hungry. Ray waited until Fraser had complied, having eaten half of the slice of pie, before he spoke again.

"Okay, so apart from all that, what's on your mind?"

"It's silly." Fraser said. "Meg asked me on a date for this evening."

"And? You got nerves?"

"I suppose you could say that. Ray, she's going to want to go somewhere nice."

"Not the Loose Moose, or Crabs 'n' Things?" Ray teased. "Yeah, she seems like she'd prefer a classy place. I know one or two."

"Thanks." Fraser said. "But I don't own a decent suit, and I don't think, under the circumstances, my dress uniform would be -"

Ray snorted. "Ahh, yeah. Not appropriate, considering." he said. "This is the moment I've been waiting for for years. Let me take care of this! We'll soon have you fixed up." He was grinning in a way that didn't make Fraser feel any more confident.

"Look, would Detective Armani steer you wrong?" Ray joked, trying to put Fraser at ease. "You're planning for a date, not a military campaign. You'll be just fine."

"I don't know, I think I might prefer a military campaign." Fraser said, smiling nervously.

"I mean, what about flowers?" He gesticulated helplessly. "I took a wrist corsage, two actually, I didn't know what color she was wearing, but one would have been sufficient, when I went for dinner with Miss King, and I got the impression that it might have been terribly old fashioned, of course, she thought I was a criminal, so that might have affected her judgement, but I don't know whether a bouquet would be more appropriate-"

"Take a breath, Benny. Thatcher isn't going to stop liking you because you get her the wrong roses."

Fraser put his head in his hands. "It's not the flowers, Ray. She's a sophisticated, beautiful, cosmopolitan woman. I mean, she even went to the Sorbonne! Everything I know about formal etiquette I learned from a nineteenth century library book, and it's not nearly as helpful to know how to perform a quadrille as one might think. She's incredible. And I'm a country boy from the back of nowhere."

Ray gave Fraser the benefit of a long, steady stare before he replied, speaking gently. Fraser was really baring his insecurities today, and Ray trod carefully. As hard as it had been for Fraser to fit in when he arrived in Chicago, Ray had _never_ heard him worry about being from the Territories. Usually it was a point of pride. "A country boy who apparently the lady is crazy about. Stop selling yourself short. What's so much better about us city folk anyway? Don't ever think she's too good for you. Don't be so self-conscious about what makes you, you."

Ray toyed with his fork. "She's really got you tied up in knots. She must be something pretty special." He shook his head. "I hope she's worth it."

Fraser smiled, the expression lighting up his whole face.

"Ray, she's courageous, and smart, and principled. I don't think she's had an easy time of it. The RCMP is still..." he looked troubled, "It still has a lot of institutional chauvinism. I think she's put on a hard shell to keep herself safe."

"And you," Ray thought, "are practically a subject matter expert on putting up barriers between the real you and the rest of the world."

He said, "Well, I'm glad you see all that in her, Benny. I just hope she's good for you."

After breakfast, Ray took Fraser to the only branch of his bank that was open on a Saturday, and then back across town to "this guy I know", in Ray's words, to get a suit.

They walked into the small store in Ray's neighborhood, and a middle-aged man stepped from behind the counter to greet them.

"Ey, cuz!" the man said, coming up and hugging Ray. Fraser surmised that he was another member of Ray's large extended family.

"Hey, how you doin'?" Ray said. "I brought my friend here, Benny, can you believe he doesn't own a single nice suit? Benny, this is Joey, he'll see you right."

Joey looked Fraser up and down appraisingly.

"No suits? This fine specimen wasted on jeans? The yoot' of today."

"Well, actually, sir, most of the time I'm in uniform." Fraser explained. "Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Pleased to meet you." He extended his hand with a smile, and Joey shook it.

"Ah, a Mountie. That would explain the hat." He waved vaguely at the Stetson in Fraser's hands. "I take it back. Those red suits look pretty good on a broad shouldered frame like yours. But I think we can do better. Have to have it soon?"

"For tonight." Ray said. Joey shuddered slightly, but whipped out a tape measure.

"Well, it ain't gonna be the perfection I usually offer, but we can make do."

He measured Fraser quickly and brought out an elegant dark charcoal grey suit with a single breasted jacket, and a white dress shirt.

"Fitting room's in back. It's a bit cramped."

Fraser came out a few minutes later with a pinched expression on his face and the suit on.

"You okay, Benny?" Ray asked.

"Sorry, yes. My ribs just gave me a moment getting into the shirt." Fraser said in an undertone, not wishing to make a scene.

Joey looked him over. "Mmm, I gotta make a couple of alterations, but..." he made an approving gesture. "Him," he pointed at Ray with his thumb, "My suits make him look a million dollars. You, you make my suit look a million dollars."

Ray snorted and slapped Joey over the back of the head lightly. Then the two turned and had a conversation in an undertone.

Joey turned back to Fraser. "You like it?"

"Yes, it seems very well made." Fraser said.

Joey named a price that seemed extremely low. Fraser started to protest.

"Ray, your friend is insulting me. Tell him to stop insulting me or I won't take his money at all!" Joey said.

Ray grinned. "Benny, stop insulting my cousin. And go get out of that so he can make the alterations."

They went to the florist where a nice young lady helped Fraser pick out a suitable selection of roses, while they waited for Joey to drop the hem on the suit pants and adjust the cuffs to his idea of perfection on the jacket. After they picked the suit up, and Ray approved the tie that Joey threw in "to sweeten the deal", Ray dropped Fraser home to rest up for his big date. He could tell that between the ribs and the nerves, Fraser wasn't feeling too great.

Fraser napped for a few hours with Diefenbaker watching over him, then bathed, shaved, and dressed carefully for his date. He was re-tying his tie for the sixth time when Meg knocked on the door of his apartment.

"All right, be good." he said to Diefenbaker, then took the roses he'd selected out of the water they'd been sitting in and went to meet her at the door. She was wearing a simple black sheath dress that accentuated her slender figure.

"You look beautiful." Fraser said, handing her the half-dozen white roses, edged with delicate red at the tip of each petal. "These reminded me of you." he said.

Meg looked Fraser over approvingly. "And you look very handsome in that suit. Shall we go? My car is downstairs."

The restaurant that Meg had chosen was downtown. When they walked in the door, they were greeted by the maitre d' and seated at a good table. Fraser felt mildly intimidated. The room was very glitzy and chic and full of people who looked like they made more money in a day than a month's worth of his salary.

"This is nice." he said after they were seated. The sommelier approached with the wine list. He passed it to Fraser who froze momentarily. He was expected to select wine? Besides being unfamiliar with this level of fine dining, not drinking put him at a disadvantage.

Meg stepped in. "Excuse me." she said, with a dry smile for the sommelier. "I'll be the host this evening."

The sommelier apologized and took the wine list from Fraser and handed it to her instead. Suddenly Fraser didn't know what to do with his hands. He played with the napkin in his lap for a few moments while she selected a half-bottle of a nice red and a bottle of Perrier for both of them.

They made awkward small talk, and then their waiter arrived with the menus. Fraser was slightly horrified to discover that as she was the host of their party, his menu had no prices. At least the food wasn't too daunting. It was modern American cuisine, even if the menu was in French, and it wasn't difficult to choose something that came down to basically meat and potatoes from among the selection.

Thatcher watched Fraser as he ordered, and observed that he was looking around at the rest of the diners. He was beginning to feel that although Joey had done a lovely job on the suit, it was definitely not up to the same caliber as most of the clothes the other diners were wearing. He felt awkward and out of place. He never felt any shame wearing the uniform, but a cheap suit, even a well made cheap suit, people judged you on that. He wondered if it embarrassed Meg. As the meal progressed and Meg searched around for viable topics of conversation, she realized that it had been a mistake to bring him to this restaurant.

Fraser looked at the beautiful, elegant woman across the table from him and wondered why he'd ever thought he would be good enough for her. Surely, she would be better off with someone who fit into this world, who knew which knife to use (although he was extremely grateful that on the silverware front things didn't seem to have changed too much since the nineteenth century) and who could share her taste for fine wine and high living. What a fool he'd made of himself, daring to think he could be with her. His hand shook slightly as he raised the water glass to his lips between mouthfuls of steak that tasted like dry ash now, and he spilled water on the table. The waiter rushed over to mop it up, making him feel even more gauche and out of place.

"I'm sorry." he said, to the waiter and Meg at the same time.

Meg smiled a tight smile at the waiter, and asked for the check. Fraser's spirits flagged. It was over. He'd disgraced himself in front of her, shown himself every bit the country boy he'd been afraid he would. He cut himself no slack for being on edge and not entirely free from pain or the effects of the drugs that were currently keeping it under control.

Meg settled up quickly.

"I thought we'd skip dessert." she said. "It's a nice night out. What do you say to a carriage ride in the park?"

The thought had occurred to her that if there was one thing that was almost guaranteed to soothe an agitated Fraser, it was being out of doors.

Fraser looked surprised. She didn't just want to drive him home and tell him it had all been a mistake?

"Oh. Yes, if you think..."

"I think we could both use the fresh air." Meg said firmly.

The carriage driver happened to recognize Fraser.

"You want to drive tonight, son?" he said. He welcomed the opportunity to sleep while the younger man did his job for him.

Fraser nodded. He would like nothing more than to commune with the horse. It was impossible to drive well and stay out of sorts, the horse would pick up on his mood. It was a surefire way to get his tumultuous emotions under control.

"All right." Meg said, sitting beside him on the driver's box. "You drive. I talk."

"I-"

"No arguments!" she said in an unyielding tone.

"Oh." Fraser's voice was small. He took the reins and clicked his tongue for the horse to start walking. The park was lovely at night, and he could feel the embarrassment of not fitting in falling away.

"Benton, I've been out with my share of men. Most of them, well, they'd expect that we'd go to places like that one, they'd be at home there and-"

Fraser tried to interrupt, but Meg shushed him.

"They'd be slick, and smooth, and charming, and every one of those men, Benton, had a way of treating me like a piece of the furniture. I know how to belong in those places because I taught myself to like the right things, say the right things, get along. I shouldn't have taken you there. No, not because you're not good enough. Because I'm sick to death of the kind of man who knows how to bribe the Maitre d' to get his date tipsy and pliable. Yes, the men I went out with, they looked and acted like gentlemen, but Benton, what's on the surface isn't what matters. They hurt me. I don't know why I... I wanted to make everything perfect tonight, and I got it all wrong."

She took a deep breath. It was hard to admit that her the highly polished image she presented wasn't all that she wanted to be, after all. She did want to be successful, but not at the cost of no longer remembering how to have simple fun. Always having to keep her guard up, no matter what. Those men had been posing as gentlemen. Fraser might feel lost in a fancy restaurant like that, but he was ten times the gentleman any of them had been.

Meg leaned against Fraser's shoulder. He was very still, only moving to flick the reins and direct the horse, calmly and gently. He moved to put his arm around her waist, drawing her in close to him, lifting the rein over her head so she could scoot in toward him. He continued to drive with one arm around her. She leaned her face against his chest.

"I think I panicked." he said eventually. "I'm still not sure what it is that you see in me, Meg."

"I see a man who is genuinely as honorable as the surface he presents to the world. I see someone who cares about everyone he meets, and who makes time for everyone he meets. I see someone who isn't, generally, ashamed to stand out from the run of the mill. Except, apparently, when I take him on a date." Meg said dryly.

"Oh." Fraser said. She had a point. There was something about wanting to impress her that made him comport himself with far less than his usual self-confidence. But what she said about what she saw in him filled him with warmth and gratitude. Sometimes, with other women who made their interest in him obvious, it seemed like they didn't bother to look at the real him, just the surface. Meg's words and her tone of voice told him that she really did see something inside him that was worth caring for.

They arrived at the entrance to the park again. Fraser reached into his jacket pocket. As he had not paid for dinner, he still had quite a bit of cash with him. He leaned back and handed the driver a substantial sum.

"If you don't mind, we're going to go around a few more times." he said.

The driver grunted. "Suit yerself. Let me down, then." He saw the potential to start his drinking early, he didn't need to take any more customers this night, after what he'd just been paid.

Fraser brought the carriage to a halt and let the driver down, then they set off again.

Meg smiled. So the date hadn't started too auspiciously, but now, curled up against Fraser, under the blanket of the night, it had turned out just perfect.

**Author's Note: This chapter makes me nervous! I hope that you like Ray's fairy godfather act, and I hope that Fraser doesn't seem too much of a mope. He's doing his best, darn it! Thank you for reading, and thanks to the lovely people who reviewed! I love to hear your thoughts! Stay tuned for Chapter 3, coming soon.**


	3. Something's Got to Give

**Chapter 3 - Something's Got to Give**

Monday morning arrived too soon. Meg had already decided that one thing she needed to do was negotiate an exception to the no pets policy that her building had, because spending the night in Benton's sparsely furnished apartment was charming in a rustic way, but the lack of modern plumbing was not. And she couldn't ask him not to be responsible for his wolf's well being.

Ray arrived to pick up Fraser shortly after nine am and was very surprised upon reaching his apartment to find that Fraser was still not back in uniform.

"You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, Ray." Fraser said. He had a curiously uneasy expression on his face. "Please, come in, sit down."

"What's up?" Ray took a seat and Fraser sat opposite him.

"Well, I decided that you were right, I need to take some risks in order to give this thing with Meg a chance. But I'm afraid that means... Ray, I have a medical reason to be on leave for another few weeks, and I'm taking them. Then, I am owed some leave, which I was saving to go North for a while in the summer. I'm taking a sabbatical. Just for two months. That should give us time to see if what we have is real."

Ray understood now why Fraser was looking so uneasy. He was dumping their partnership, just like that! Sure, only for two months, but since when would he even think about giving up pursuit of a dangerous criminal?

"So you're not going after Loman with me?"

"Well." Fraser sighed. "I don't see why I can't help in a civilian capacity. I know it's not the same, but I still have a mind, and I can still discuss the case with you. I just don't think I can justify riding along."

"But jeez, Benny, Loman tried to get Inspector Thatcher killed. Loman's guy shot you. C'mon, you're not just going to quit the case on me? Right? Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"I'm sorry, Ray. But I know you can catch Loman. And I _will_ help as much as I can, I promise. I need to find out if this thing between Meg and I is going to last. And I can't put her career in jeopardy while I do that. It's still technically not permissible for us to be together, I'm still bending the rules, but it does put her in a safer position."

Ray rubbed his head. He'd told the Mountie to do whatever it took to make things work, to take a chance. It was better than running off on a train with a crazy, psycho bitch. But he still felt hurt.

"I guess I should be going, then." he said coldly. "Lots to be done."

"Ray..." Fraser said. "I don't like this, but I don't see a way around it. Believe me, I'd rather not abandon the case, or stop being your partner, even for a short while."

Ray smiled. It was nice to hear that. "But for once in your life, you're putting you first? I guess I should be proud of you for that."

"Stay a few minutes and tell me what your plans are for the day?" Fraser asked, ostensibly casually.

Ray considered. It was awfully tempting to tell Mr. 'By the Book' that he couldn't be sitting around wasting time and sharing confidential police information with civilians. It would serve him right for ditching the Loman case. On the other hand, his morally rigid friend was stretching the rules to be able to date his superior _and_ trying to stretch them so he could still be there for Ray.

"All right Benny. You know how Saturday morning I was telling you, Loman's immediate family's been a dead end?"

Fraser nodded, leaning over the table, giving Ray his full attention.

"Okay, well, while you were napping on Saturday, I dug through a list of places Loman used to socialize and shook a few trees. Came up with a name and a picture, some girl he was nailing on the side."

Fraser winced at Ray's description of the young lady.

Ray pulled a photo out of his pocket.

"That's her. Camilla Dawson."

Camilla had bleached blonde hair, long fingernails, red lips, and rather obvious colored contact lenses in an improbable shade of violet.

"Problem is, so far she's gone to ground. Loman's trout of a wife is still holed up in the mansion, so I'm guessing if the blonde's taken off, she might know where he is. He might still want to hang on to her. I just gotta get a break on finding her."

Fraser looked at the photo thoughtfully.

"Ray, that's some unique art that the young lady has on her fingernails."

Indeed, the long acrylic nails were each airbrushed with an image, a blush-worthy (in Fraser's case) rendition of the silhouette of an unclothed woman.

"Yeah, but bad taste isn't a crime, yet, Benny." Ray said.

"No, but I would imagine that the art work is distinct to each nail artist. If you were to canvas some of the nail salons in her neighborhood you might be able to gather some useful intelligence."

Ray made a face. "Well, that's a better lead than I had. But I wish you were coming with me if I have to go door to door chatting up manicurists in the hopes of tracking down some girl who may or may not have a clue as to Loman's location."

"Believe it or not, Ray, I sincerely wish that, too."

Ray stood up. "Guess I'd better hustle my butt over to the South Side. So now you have all this time on your hands, what are you going to do with it? I mean, we both know if you _had_ taken your leave up North like you planned, you'd just have found some criminal to trail across hundreds of miles of tundra. What's Chicago got that compares to that?"

Fraser made an unreadable face, his lips contorted somewhere between a smile and a look of intense anxiety.

"Since the solution that I have found to continue seeing Meg is tenuous at best, and rather temporary, I believe I will be - what is the phrase? Ah. Looking for 'career opportunities' outside the Force."

Ray did a double take.

"Benny, you cannot be serious!" he exclaimed. "I mean, I can allow you need some time to adjust here, but you don't really think that you have to leave the force? Just keep things quiet, who's going to care? Who's going to tell? It's not like Turnbull's going to drop a dime on you to Ottawa."

Fraser shook his head. "Something has to give. The reasons for the policies on commanding officers not fraternizing with their subordinates are sound, even if currently distasteful to me. It's not just the power dynamic. You and I know that none of this has anything to do with Meg having control over my career. I might be able to ignore that, although I would hate to be violating protocol so thoroughly.

"But the other reasons. What if something happened, Ray? What if I had to choose between saving Meg or preventing harm to a civilian? What if someone threatened to hurt Meg to prevent me from doing my duty? Or did the same to me to influence her? My judgement toward Meg and hers toward me cannot possibly be professional, cannot possibly be calm and rational if we are lovers."

He stopped, and Ray could see the familiar tide of red rising up his face.

"Huh. Benny, you're the only guy I know who runs up against a rule that's stopping him from doing what he wants and says, 'Hey, maybe they have a point.'"

"Well, Ray," Fraser countered, looking puzzled, "people don't just go around making rules for the fun of it. They usually have a good reason."

Ray snorted. "Uh-huh, and that's where we'll have to disagree. I know plenty of petty little dictators who get off on making up stupid rules. What about that dogcatcher?"

Fraser paused for a moment with his mouth open, and then shook his head. He wasn't in the mood for one of their philosophical arguments.

"It's just in this case, there are so many ways that Meg could get hurt, either her career, or... worse."

"Well. If that's the way you feel, I guess you have to do what you have to do, Benny. But you - not be a Mountie? That's crazy."

Fraser looked rueful. "Does it make sense that I'd dive in front of a bullet for Meg, but I wouldn't consider giving up the uniform? But, Ray..." he shook his head sadly.

Ray bit his tongue. Hadn't Fraser said that Meg said she'd fight for him? So how come he was the one who had to make all the sacrifices? Except that was just like Benny. That was what he would do. Whatever it took to make the situation right. It seemed like whether or not the two Mounties ended up together, there was heartache of some kind in Fraser's future.

"How 'bout I drop by after work today and tell you what I found? Of course, I'd promise to call you if we get Loman, but since you still won't get a phone in this place..." he teased.

Fraser smiled, grateful for the change of subject.

"That'd be great, Ray." he said.

After Ray left, Fraser walked downstairs with Diefenbaker, bought a newspaper, and went to the park. Reading through the employment section was a novelty. Not that he really expected to find anything that would do. It was hard to imagine anything more suitable than the job he already loved.

Fraser flipped through the paper and enjoyed the sun on his face. It was good not to be moving. Hiding how rough he felt was instinctual, like a wounded animal protecting itself. There was no point letting other people worry about what couldn't be helped. But being able to relax out of sight of his friends was a relief. He turned the pages slowly. He'd been working two jobs for so long that the prospect of a day with no urgency to do anything was daunting, especially since he couldn't fill it with useful activity like maintenance around his building.

At about the same time, Meg Thatcher was sitting in Lieutenant Welsh's office down town having an uncomfortable conversation.

"You're telling me, off the record, that you're in a relationship with Constable Fraser, and that as a result, he's dropping off the face of the planet right when we could use him to track Loman?" Welsh said.

"Effectively, yes." Meg squirmed under his direct gaze. "I know I probably haven't used the best judgement in this case, but-"

Welsh sighed. "But anyone who wasn't blind or biased could see that things were going to get to this point sooner or later." he said, unsentimentally. In his experience, the heightened danger and excitement of certain parts of law enforcement, combined with the truly horrendous work hours that made dating normal humans unlikely, quite frequently led to situations like this. He had observed Thatcher blow up unnecessarily at Fraser on time too many to be deeply surprised by this outcome.

"I suppose you could say that. I can't say I saw it coming myself." Thatcher said. She appreciated that so far he wasn't making official noises about the whole thing.

"Vecchio's worked without a partner before. He can make do for now. Especially with the Bureau here to keep him busy. I'm not thrilled, but then I do realize just how lucky we've been to have additional head count in the form of Constable Fraser's shining countenance at no additional stretch to my budget, so I can't complain too much."

He looked at her with a witheringly severe gaze. "But just be careful. He's a damn good officer, and you're no slouch at what you do. Try not to screw things up, for god's sake."

"I appreciate your concern. And... I'd appreciate it if you could keep it between us."

Welsh tapped the side of his nose. "That's a given, Inspector. Just get things sorted out."

Get things sorted out? Meg smiled wryly to herself as she strode out of the police station, refusing to look as if she come with hat in hand in to ask a personal favor.

She'd never planned to have something like this to sort out. That wasn't part of what was supposed to happen. That wasn't part of running a tight ship, playing by the rules, doing what had to be done. That wasn't part of Inspector Margaret Thatcher's swift rise through the ranks - which had already been set back by the move to Chicago.

Meg drove back to the Consulate. Every glimpse of a red shirt, or a tall, dark haired man made her think of her own sweetheart. It felt strange, the bubbly sensation of a growing new love. She hadn't felt this way, she hadn't allowed herself to feel this way, not since - not since Paris.

Arriving back at the Consulate, Meg shut herself in her office. There was a pile of paperwork from the two shooting incidents. It was important that she fill it in carefully to make sure that all of Fraser's hospital bills would be covered properly, and to make sure that Ottawa understood that he had been acting correctly when he got shot in the side while not on duty. That incident would come under a lot of scrutiny.

No matter how much she tried to concentrate, Meg's mind drifted back to Paris, inevitably comparing the two situations. She'd been so very young and stupid, and he'd been another student, an artist named Rafael. He couldn't have been more different from Ben, with scruffy clothes, long wavy blond hair that he wore tied back in a leather thong, and a rebellious attitude. He'd called her his muse and told her to lose her provincial morality and be free with him. He'd painted her and seduced her in the process.

He'd been her first lover. He'd been so persuasive and brilliant. It'd been like being drunk on champagne for as long as it had lasted. It was only after she walked in on him with another woman, an older Frenchwoman, and he'd told Meg that she couldn't really expect him to be satisfied with just her inexperienced, prudish ways (after all she'd given him!) that she realized Rafael didn't love her in return, had been using her, for money, for sex, just getting what he could from a naïve young woman. She'd been crushed, and when she returned to Canada, she had guarded her heart closely.

The men she'd told Ben about during the carriage ride were the safe options she stuck with after the mistake of falling in love with the selfish Rafael. They were the suitable choices who were supposed to align with the career and the life that she wanted. Men of the right social status and income. They might have hurt her, but they'd never broken her heart. She never let them get close to it. Now she'd left herself wide open to be just as shattered as she was after Rafael, only, this wasn't some silly schoolgirl infatuation as she'd later come to think of Paris. This was different. Ben might be the one, the love of her life. They just had to make it work.

Ben was an unsuitable match by the standards she'd set for herself, but he wasn't selfish, no one could ever say that. He wasn't trying to change her or manipulate her. He was so different from anyone she'd known before. She just hoped he was as crazy about her as she seemed to be about him.

The memory of a certain look in Ben's eyes made Meg's breath hitch in her throat. One thing she'd forgotten about falling in love was how distracting it was when she had to settle to routine tasks. Once she had started to think about that look, it wasn't long before her daydreams progressed elsewhere and any chance of immersing herself in paperwork flew out the window.

Meg came over to Fraser's apartment after her day at the Consulate was done, with a quick stop on the way to pick up a present for Fraser. He greeted her at the door with a kiss. It was amazing to her how quickly she was becoming accustomed to that, how quickly it seemed like she couldn't do with out it.

Even after they had shared intimate moments, Meg more or less expected that Fraser would still be somewhat physically distant, restrained. It seemed to be in his nature. It surprised her, although she found it utterly endearing, that reality seemed to be the reverse. Whenever they were in proximity, he seemed to crave the small gestures of touch, his hand brushing against hers, or if they were standing close, he would lean down and kiss the back of her neck, his lips just grazing her skin. She was still making sense of him, but from what she could tell, he was unused to being treated with free physical affection and was dizzy with the newness of it.

The other thing that surprised her was how much he smiled. It turned out that he had a brilliant smile, the kind that made her heart flutter. She thought it was probably a good thing she hadn't seen much of it before or she would have only fallen for him even faster. He had always seemed formal and solemn in her presence, but now he would light up so easily. Like now, when she walked in and set her shopping bag down on the table and said, "I missed you today, Ben." It was the first time she'd used the familiar diminutive of his name, and his eyes sparkled with obvious happiness as he told her he'd missed her too. It woke in her an answering smile. It seemed so long since she'd had reason to smile genuinely so much, not the readily mustered faux bonhomie of the diplomat.

"I brought you a present." she said. She was nervous, there was no telling how he'd take it.

Fraser opened the bag and pulled out the box inside.

"A cell phone?" he said with surprise. "Thank you, but I've never really felt the need..."

Meg ran her fingers through her hair. "Actually, it's not really for you. Well, it is for you. It's just that it's more for me. I would like you to carry it. Benton, I don't think I could stand knowing that you could be running into danger and not being able to contact you. After last week. God. It's hard enough knowing how close I came to losing you." Her voice shook slightly.

Fraser's eyes widened with comprehension.

"Understood." he said gently. He opened the box. The phone was clearly state of the art.

"I'll pay the account, of course." Meg said briskly.

Fraser scratched his eyebrow. "That won't be necessary." he said. His tone of voice was neutral, but Meg knew immediately she'd crossed a line. He did have his pride. Even if she was asking him to carry the phone as a favor to her, he wouldn't want any hint of being a kept man. He was certainly not the sort of man who would use her for what he could get out of it.

"Of course not." she said. "Well, there are details on how to set up a plan and an account in the front of the user's manual. I hope you like it. It would help you keep in touch with Detective Vecchio, too."

Fraser smiled. He was grateful that she was making the effort to respect his existing partnership with Ray. She hadn't always been very nice to Ray. Not that she'd always been nice to him, either. But this gave him hope that she realized that Ray was very important to him. Ray and Meg had quite a bit in common, in his opinion. They just both needed to figure that out.

Ray chose that moment to arrive. He was looking rumpled and cross as he burst in, barely knocking at the same time as entering the room.

"Benny, the day I've had- " he began, then he saw Meg.

"Oh, Inspector Thatcher, sorry, I should have expected I'd see you here." His smile was thin.

Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Meg brought me a present." he said. He held up the phone.

"Wow. Dragging Benny kicking and screaming into the twentieth century, I see!" His thin smile changed to a genuine beam of approval in Meg's direction. "Lemme get the number for that. It'd be nice not to have to send smoke signals."

"I don't believe it's connected yet, Ray." Fraser said. "But trust me, you'll be the second to know."

Ray looked back and forth between Thatcher and Fraser. They probably wanted some time alone. 'Welcome to being a third wheel, Ray', he thought to himself. But he did have a reason for being there.

"Anyway, I just came over to let you know how things went on the Loman case. Need to give you a heads' up. Agents Whitman and Thoreau are going to want to talk to you again tomorrow. Welsh asked me to make sure you can make it down to the station by nine."

"But I already gave my statement about the whole affair." Fraser said.

"I know Benny. I don't know what they're getting at, but I figure your track record for noticing stuff... I think they're hoping if they give it long enough they'll shake something loose."

Thatcher's brow lowered. That didn't sound like friendly cross-agency co-operation. That sounded like trouble.

"What about Ms. Dawson?" Fraser asked. "Did you have any luck locating her?"

Ray exhaled in a frustrated snort. "Not exactly. I was canvassing her neighborhood like you suggested in the morning, but those damn Bureau guys had me chatting up Loman's associates, who we already interviewed, all afternoon."

"That sounds frustrating." Fraser said.

"Yeah, not really a whole lot of use." Ray shrugged. "Anyway, I better leave you two crazy kids to it, huh?" He smirked, watching the predictable flush begin on Fraser's neck. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Benny."

Fraser coughed, lost for words for a second, then said, "Just a moment, Ray. We haven't eaten dinner yet. Perhaps we could all go out and get a bite to eat?"

Fraser knew Ray had a perfectly good home cooked meal waiting for him. That wasn't the point. The point was that Ray had gone out of his way since the very first week Fraser had arrived in Chicago, alone and lonely, to be there for him and make sure he wasn't always in absolute solitude save for the wolf. Fraser wasn't about to ditch him just because he had other company now.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea, Detective. You look like you could stand to unwind." Meg said. It wasn't easy to be gracious when her inner six year old was screaming 'mine, mine, mine', but as much as she would like to slam the door on the world and be with Ben, she could see that he was trying to protect his friendship with Ray, too.

Ray was surprisingly touched. Apparently Fraser had learned something aside from 'try not to get shot in the spine' from the whole Victoria incident. Like that it wasn't so good to shut a friend out the moment there was a woman in the picture.

In their efforts to undo old hurts and create new connections, none of the three had any foreboding that the peaceful night out was the calm before a storm that was gathering over their heads.

**Author's Note: Whew. Heavy on the exposition there. I extrapolated Meg's life in Paris from a few words in _The Mask_. I love that episode! Thanks for reading, and I hope you're enjoying it, and a huge thanks to those who take the time to review. It's very helpful! **


	4. Open and Shut

**Chapter 4 - Open and Shut**

The next morning Ray picked up Fraser and drove him to the station. The two FBI agents were waiting in an interview room. Agents Whitman and Thoreau could have been extruded from the same factory mold. Their suits were black and their demeanors grey and cold. Their questioning of Fraser started on a hostile note and never warmed from it.

"Okay." Thoreau said, "Now, you claim that during the drive by incident you saw the car's number plate. But the plate number you gave Detective Vecchio belonged to a different car. Were you mistaken in thinking you remembered it correctly?"

"No, sir." Fraser replied. "I believe it was surmised that it was a forged-"

"Never mind what was surmised! Just answer the questions." Whitman snapped. "You had a bare split second when you claimed to notice the silencer to push your superior out of the way. Are we really supposed to buy that your reflexes and eyesight are that sharp?"

"Yes, sir." Fraser got the general idea of what Whitman was driving at, which was reinforced by Thoreau's next questions.

"Would you say you would be better qualified to serve in Inspector Thatcher's position? Do you have a problem dealing with women in positions of authority?"

"No, sir, I would not say that, and no, sir, I do not have a problem with women being in charge."

In the absence of other leads on Loman, the agents were apparently trying to make any connection, however absurd, between Fraser and the crime, even though he was the reason Thatcher was still alive. That explained something Ray had said, about one of the agents reviewing his statements about the case obsessively.

Thoreau in particular kept harping back to Fraser's relationship with Thatcher. Apparently he'd picked up gossip to the effect that she had been seen reprimanding him publicly on more than one occasion. That he could take that as an indication that Fraser might cooperate with a criminal to have her killed suggested strongly to Fraser that the agents were desperate at this point, completely floundering in their case, no doubt under pressure from the US and Ecuadorian Governments.

The interview went on in this vein for two hours. The agents were asking the same questions over and over, phrased in different ways to try to get him to contradict himself. At eleven o'clock, a worried Ray and Lieutenant Welsh went into the viewing room to watch through the two way mirror. Fraser was sitting rigidly upright, answering the questions straightforwardly and without a hint of anger.

Fraser wished he'd taken a painkiller with breakfast. Sitting in one position for so long was taking a toll on the muscles of his side. Everything was stiffening up and sending alarm signals screaming through his body. Yet he kept answering quietly and politely, refusing to show these men any sort of weakness.

"You can't keep stonewalling us forever, Constable." Thoreau said. He had come around to squat beside Fraser's chair, leaning on the side of it and talking intimately in Fraser's ear.

"We've heard plenty about you. You like making trouble, is that it? Agent Borland didn't have a lot good to say about your record of cooperating with the Bureau. Neither did Ford and Deeter. Do you think you're some kind of renegade? Vigilante? Is that why Thatcher was in the way?"

Thoreau made to stand up, and "accidentally" fell sideways, his elbow launching into Fraser's injured side in a blow calculated to hit where it would cause the most pain with the least visible motion. "We can keep talking all day, if that's what it takes, Constable." he said, menace clear in his voice.

Fraser swallowed hard and blinked, clamping his teeth shut to hold back a groan, not wanting Thoreau to see how much the "accidental" blow had hurt him. There'd be more of that, he knew, if the interview-turned-interrogation continued. He'd seen bad cops at work before, knew that the skilled ones could take their intimidation to a physical level in a way that would never be detected, that their suspects could never call them out for. He resigned himself to a rough morning.

Thoreau was good at what he did. Whitman looked the other way, used to his partner's tactics, and from behind the two-way mirror, the unwarranted contact looked like Thoreau had just slipped and steadied himself. Still, even the verbal badgering and harassment was too much for Ray to stand for.

"They can't be serious!" Ray exploded behind the glass. "We gotta call them off."

Welsh agreed. "Get Constable Fraser out of there. I'll have a word with those two."

Ray pushed open the door to the interview room. "All right, you two." he snarled, "Interview's over. Welsh wants to see you." Thoreau and Whitman started to protest, but Ray was already at Fraser's side.

"How about we get some lunch?" he said, his tone changing immediately from the vitriolic one in which he'd addressed the two agents.

Fraser nodded, passing his hand over his face as if to wipe the strain off it. Ray attributed his pallor and the tension around his eyes and mouth to mental fatigue.

The two agents entered Welsh's office.

"Ray, I just need to..." Fraser indicated that he was stepping into the men's room with a jerk of his head. He had to go splash some cold water over his face and pull himself together. If he told Ray about what Thoreau did, Ray would be incandescent with fury, and Welsh would be paternal and overbearing. As touching as their protective attitudes toward him were, he didn't think he had the energy left to deal with the conflict that it would spark off between the 27th and the Bureau men. He ran some water and splashed it over his face, then cupped his hands and drank from them. He had a sour taste in his mouth.

Ray went to his desk and called Inspector Thatcher while Fraser was in the men's room. He was worried about Fraser, but he didn't have time to do more than stop for lunch before he got back to work on finding Loman.

"You want to come downtown and meet us for lunch? Things didn't go too well this morning. Benny looks like hell."

He arranged that they'd meet her at a small Italian restaurant he knew.

Inside Welsh's office, the two agents were under heavy fire.

"What the hell did you think you were playing at? That man put his life on the line twice for Inspector Thatcher's sake. How could you possibly think he was involved in the scheme?"

"Well..." Whitman blustered, "The first time could have been a set up to make it look like he was trying to save her, and then the second time he could have been in on the plan. According to all the statements, Thatcher would have been history if Vecchio hadn't coincidentally returned to the scene. Constable Fraser could have been planning on merely being knocked out for show while the killers took her. Everyone seems to know that the two of them just do not get on. He has every reason to want her out of the way."

Thoreau added, "Don't act like he's some innocent. We've read all the files. This guy is a lone wolf. He's not going to let someone push him around. He's more than capable of being involved in this, more than capable of doing what he has to, to get what he wants. We know how he held out in the Gerard case. He was in that up to his neck."

Welsh scowled. He leaned forward on his desk, his hands forming two fists, the knuckles white against the wood.

"Stay away from Constable Fraser. If I hear that either of you has so much as breathed in his vicinity, I'll personally see to it that he sues you and the Bureau for harassment. Now get out of my office."

Thatcher arrived at the restaurant shortly after Ray and Fraser had been seated. She walked across to the table. Ray had a look on his face that she was unfortunately familiar with. He was explosively angry about something.

Fraser stood up to greet Meg, kissing her on the cheek politely. She noticed that he looked pinched around the eyes. They sat back down.

"Hello, Ray." she ventured.

"Inspector." Ray said, shortly. He was mustering his temper. Fraser had been trying to persuade him not to bother Meg with the details of his interview. Ray was unconvinced. Thatcher needed to know what was going on, so she could watch Fraser's back too, in his opinion. Both as Fraser's lover, and his superior officer.

After the waiter took their drink order, Ray cleared his throat.

"Listen, about this morning."

Fraser shrunk back in his chair. Oh well, there was nothing for it.

"I take it that the interview was trying." Meg said.

"Those bastards are out on a limb. There's all kinds of political fuss about this case. But they have no right to try to hang Benny out to dry." Ray said.

"What?!" Meg leaned across the table. "What happened?"

"They were getting pretty nasty, insinuating that because sometimes you let Benny have it in public," (at which Meg winced, had she really been so awful to her subordinate?) "he has some kind of grudge and was working with Loman."

The waiter returned to take their food order which gave Meg just enough time to calm down to the extent that she didn't yell her reply to that piece of information.

"How dare they!?" she said, still loudly enough to draw attention from the nearby tables.

Fraser shifted uneasily. "It's all right." he said. "We all know that I wasn't involved, and they really can't do anything more than question me. I don't want to cause any difficulties. Apparently I haven't made a lot of friends at the Bureau, but I don't want to make a fuss."

Meg and Ray exchanged glances. For Fraser's sake they'd drop it for the moment, but neither of them was happy. The meal was conducted mostly in silence.

"Benny, you've hardly touched your plate. Not lovesick this time, right?" Ray teased. He was concerned, though.

"Are you all right, Ben?" Meg said, leaning close to him. She had been brooding angrily on the injustice against him, thinking about what she'd do to sort out the two agents, and she really hadn't been paying much attention to how he was right then.

"I'm fine." Fraser murmured. "Just not terribly hungry."

Ray rolled his eyes, and set his napkin down on the table. "You're not fine." he said. He turned to Meg.

"You mind taking him back to your place, look after him for the rest of the day?" He continued in the take-charge vein, "Don't worry, Benny, I'll go feed Dief, take him for his walk."

"That's really not necessary." Fraser protested.

"Listen, Benny, I don't think you get the option of toughing it out any more." Ray smirked. Thatcher was practically burning holes in the tablecloth with the intensity of her gaze.

"Only if it wouldn't be too much trouble." Fraser said.

As if looking after the man she cared so much for was trouble at all. Meg sighed impatiently. Her impatience turned to worry as she watched how awkwardly he moved as he got out of his seat and pushed it under the table.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she said, giving him her arm to lean on. He smiled and shifted his weight, letting her support him.

"I'm a bit stiff from sitting in one position for too long. I think I just need to rest." He was careful not to mention Thoreau's elbow to the ribs.

Ray shook his head, glowering. He was surprised to find himself glad that Fraser was off the Loman case. There was no point having Fraser subjected to the attentions of the two morons from the FBI any more than necessary.

Fraser hadn't seen the inside of Meg's apartment before. He was not surprised to find the furnishing spare but elegant, the decor a minimal palate of blues, creams and touches of gunmetal. It was very much a place that spoke of her, and he felt immediately comfortable. It was feminine, but not ostentatious.

"This is the bedroom." Meg said, as she led the way through the moderately sized apartment. "And, ah, this is the bed." She managed to blush, to her surprise. It was one thing to make love in his narrow bed, but it seemed entirely more intimate to imagine it in her own home. Not that there was going to be any hanky-panky today.

Meg sat down on the bed, and patted it. "You really do look tired. I'll call Turnbull and let him know I won't be back in this afternoon, and we can rest." She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. "I mean, if you want..."

Fraser sat beside her. He smiled, a hint of mischief on his face. "I can't imagine kicking you out of your own bed." he said. "That would hardly be courteous."

By the time Meg returned from phoning the Consulate, Fraser had his shoes and socks off and was asleep under the covers. Pain was exhausting, and he'd been hiding it carefully for days.

Meg watched him sleep for a few moments before she slipped her own shoes off, and the skirt and jacket of her suit, and climbed in beside him. He was lying on his good side, and no sooner was she in the bed than he had reached around to pull her close to him. Meg was not by nature a day time napper, but she had a feeling that she could get used to this.

Fraser woke to the aroma of coffee. Meg had left the bed at some time. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Once again the light in the room suggested late afternoon. He seemed to be getting into the habit of sleeping afternoons away.

It was the price for pushing his body to keep going through whatever happened. Fraser knew that Meg was safe now, that he could slow down and not drive himself to stay constantly on guard, constantly ready for action. But a primitive part of his brain hadn't got that message, so he was vacillating between toughing out pain that wouldn't go away, and collapsing for long, unprecedented naps. He didn't think he'd slept this much since he'd been in hospital with a bullet in his spine.

Meg came in with a mug of coffee. She handed him the mug and sat beside him on the bed.

"You look a lot better." she said as he sipped the hot coffee. "Why didn't you say that you were in pain?"

Fraser shrugged slightly, noncommittal. "I don't know, it wasn't a big deal."

"It's a big deal to me." Meg said. She had done her best not to be frustrated or upset that he'd been keeping it from her, but on top of that, his obvious unwillingness in the restaurant to have her find out about the ordeal the FBI agents put him through made her feel like he was shutting her out.

"If you can't even let me know when something happens - when something that affects both of us is bothering you-" she stood up from the bed and paced the room. Fraser put down his mug on her bedside table and stood up too.

Meg kept talking, her voice growing sharp and heated. She hated that, but she hated even more feeling like she had no idea what was going on with him.

"You just close everyone out, push everyone away, pretend you don't care. Do you really not care that people were accusing you of trying to hurt me? Can you really tell me it didn't hurt you, make you angry?"

Fraser closed his eyes. Now this was about more than just hiding that his recovery from the bullet wound was going more slowly than he'd like. He'd heard this before, not from her, but from others. Why don't you stand up for yourself? Ironically, he'd heard it from Ray talking about standing up to her, most recently. There were too many things to say about it and none of them that he wanted to, or felt able to say.

She kept going. "Sometimes it's like talking to a brick wall! Let me in, god damn it. Let me into your life. I don't know how you do it, but I can't take it, it's like beating my head on a wall to try to get through to you." she was raging at him, feeling like a small bird throwing itself against a mountainside for all the heat of her anger could touch him.

"You just stand there, looking like that-!"

Meg realized that he had indeed shut down once more, dropping that mask across his face. Sometimes it was courage, sometimes in the face of danger he really was amazingly calm and together. But sometimes it was something else. She almost thought it was fear. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he responded emotionally instead of coldly and rationally. This was one of these times.

Meg stopped talking, her breath coming out fast, through clenched teeth, as she pushed her fiery temper back down, finding her own steel core of control. He was afraid, and she thought, hurting. It was funny, but even with the brick wall face up, she could still feel that coming off him in waves. Relenting, she stepped closer to him, put her arms up to stroke his shoulders, touch his face. She took one more deep breath to get herself back in order before she spoke much more softly than before. "I just need you to trust me." she said. She pulled him down to sit on the bed and put her arms around him. His heart was beating wildly under the dead calm exterior.

The room was growing dim as daylight faded, and it was almost so dark that she couldn't see his face by the time Fraser started to talk, his voice flat.

"After my mother died, when I was very young, I went to live with my grandparents. My grandmother didn't believe in what she called 'moping about.' My father had something of a breakdown, and I think she wanted to make my world normal again. But you know a child's logic. I came to believe that my mother had died because of something I had done, because I hadn't been brave enough or strong enough."

Meg held back a sob in her throat as she heard him say this.

"Of course, I understand now that... it wasn't the case. But my father was away a lot on patrols in areas where I knew he was in great danger. And I believed that if I could just be brave enough, stoic enough, that I could keep him safe. But if I let anyone know how much I missed him, and how scared I was for him, I'd lose him. Like I lost my mother. And my grandparents' behavior did nothing to dispel that belief. So I learned never to show those things. I did my best to teach myself not to feel them.

"When my grandparents praised me for being brave about my father being away, I felt like a fraud, a hypocrite. So I did what I could to lie even to myself about what I felt. I got so good at it that it wasn't until my father was killed that I realized that," he paused, searching for words that came out in short, hesitant bursts, "the scared little boy was right to grieve for his mother, right to be afraid of what could happen. But I can't change overnight. Part of me is still afraid that if I let you see the weak parts of me, I'll lose you too."

Meg was learning quickly that sometimes he needed silence, needed to be allowed to speak without being answered or challenged. She gave him space, let him continue or not continue just as it suited him. He had already shown her his soft underbelly, shown her that he did trust her with some of the darkest places of his heart and soul.

He leaned into her for a while, and his heartbeat became regular and steady again, matching hers. That steadiness seemed like something he mustered deliberately, through force of will.

"I also see that I will lose you if I don't learn to let you in." he said. His voice finally registered emotion, a soft supplication. "All I can do is ask for you to be patient, please."

Meg bowed her head, leaning it on his shoulder. "It's hard some times." she admitted. "I don't think either of us is particularly easy to get to know, not really well. But I will try to be patient."

"I'm hardly perfect either. I don't need to tell you that my temper is often short. You've probably already discerned a certain defensiveness to it." Meg added.

Fraser made a sound that was half gentle laugh and half sigh. "Yes, I had noticed." he said.

"It's hard, when I get angry and you don't seem to care or be affected. I don't know what to think and I just get worse. And then I get scared that that will drive you away, and somehow it makes me even angrier." The irrational cycle of hurt wasn't an excuse for yelling at him, but she needed him to know why.

"I don't mind you losing your temper. It would be nice if you could try not to direct it at me when it's something else you're angry at." Fraser said.

"But I know it's not all defensiveness. Some of it is just who you are. Look at Ray, he yells at me all the time, and we're still friends. You're not going to get rid of me that easily. We can both try to be better for each other. I want to be with you. I want to be good for you. I know we're going to be all right." He took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. He felt on much firmer ground assuaging her insecurities than in examining the root causes of his own difficulties in confiding in people.

Meg exhaled, a sound of deep relief. Was that their first fight? If so, it hadn't gone so badly. Not that he was going to suddenly pour his heart out about every little trouble, but then, she wouldn't want that anyway, would she? Part of his appeal was that he knew how to be a man when he needed to, the kind she'd grown up with, the kind who kept a stiff upper lip and did what had to be done. And not that she was going to suddenly turn into a Victorian angel on the hearth, a paragon of patience and saintliness. He was right, she'd always had a hot temper. But at least now they knew where they stood.

"How are your ribs feeling?" she asked, changing the subject, giving him an opportunity to be open with her about a pain that was at least merely physical. "Do they still hurt?"

"Only when I breathe." Fraser said wryly. It was time for him to disclose something to Meg, to stop lying by omission about how he was doing. "I don't want Ray to know, because he'd overreact, but one of the agents got somewhat aggressive during the interrogation. That's why I was feeling particularly unwell at lunch."

Meg exclaimed, then held back further expressions of anger. He'd told her, knowing that she'd probably react as badly as Ray would, and obviously it was something he didn't want turned into a big deal. It was a step toward trusting her.

"What do you want to do about it?" she asked once she'd got the fire of her fury at the agents under control.

"Just keep an eye on them." Fraser said. "The important thing is catching Loman, and I worry that if they are focussing on me, they aren't doing everything necessary to find him."

"You don't want a doctor to take a look at your side?"

"I'd rather not. It's really not that bad, Meg." His voice lightened to a teasing tone, with a distinct purr to it. "And besides, I found something that seems to do quite well at distracting me from it."

Meg let out a small gasp as she felt a touch. His hand was on her thigh, the way he was stroking it with his long, strong fingers made his intentions very clear. Honorable, decent Constable Fraser had hidden depths of roguishness under the starched boxers. Her lips curving into a smile unseen in the darkness, Meg replied, "I'm sure I can think of a few things that will help."

**Author's Note: This is probably my favourite chapter from a deep emotional connection point of view. The next is my favourite chapter from a fluffy relationship building point of view, although it's also leading up to a spot of danger! Stick around :) Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought.**


	5. Perspectives

**Chapter 5 - Perspectives  
**

Ray's week was not going well, not at all. Monday and Tuesday had been a wash, obviously. The realization that Fraser was still struggling to recover from his, after all still very recent, shooting and surgery had helped Ray find some more patience for the Mountie not being with him to chase down the criminal they were after. But that didn't mean he didn't miss his constant partner's presence. He had forgotten how boring and lonely work could be when you were flying solo, with no one to spar with over the case and other trivialities of life. He sure as hell hoped that Fraser was wrong, that this wasn't going to be a permanent change.

The highlight of Wednesday, which at the behest of Agent Whitman, Ray spent going through financial records to try to find anywhere that Loman could have transferred funds that he might be trying to access now, was receiving a phone call from Fraser, from his shiny new phone, to give Ray the number. It was a relief to know that he could reach Fraser without having to physically locate him.

It was just before five on Wednesday when Ray finally found something that might be useful in the endless financial records, some bank transfers that he believed might point to Loman socking away money under his girlfriend, Camilla Dawson's accounts. He put in a query to the bank, but given how late in the day it was, he knew not to expect results.

The week was trickling away fast, and Ray knew to his frustration and dismay that with every day the chances that Loman was still in Illinois, still even in the United States, grew slimmer and slimmer. Thursday morning he stopped by Welsh's office then left the station before the egregious Whitman or the repulsive Thoreau could find him. He had a hunch about Camilla Dawson, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he tracked her down.

o-O-o-O-o

Agent Whitman was having a lousy week. For starters, could his boss bend over further to kiss the State department's ass? Not without needing to see a chiropractor afterwards. There was noise from the Ecuadorians about sending someone to check things out, which was just great. What they needed was more hostility and tension. Vecchio had been sour on the Bureau being involved to start with. Whitman knew full well that making the man do their grunt work wouldn't improve that situation, but jesus, it'd be nice to walk in somewhere just once and have the locals behave like it might help to have the Bureau's resources at their disposal.

And then, Thoreau's stunt. Thoreau could be a real asshole sometimes. Sure, Whitman backed his partner up in front of Welsh, helped build up Thoreau's argument as to why he went after the Mountie. That's partners. And he didn't disagree that there was something freakish in the Mountie's ability to put fellow cops behind bars without actually being IA, but having to remind Thoreau none too gently over dinner that they'd _agreed_ that Thoreau would cut the physical shit out, that wasn't his favorite part of the week so far.

Thoreau had a hard-on for rogue cops. Actually, it was ironic in Whitman's eyes- Thoreau had worked up this personal mythos that the Mountie was some kind of vigilante, but Whitman was willing to bet that if it turned out the Mountie was innocent, they'd find that he and Thoreau had a lot in common, some kind of zeal for justice thing that Whitman couldn't relate to. Except he couldn't imagine the straight-laced Mountie ever referring to someone as a "Fucking smug bastard who needed to be taken down a notch."

But wasting time interrogating him hadn't got them anywhere. Whitman had done his best to show Thoreau that even if the Mountie had been involved, there was no reason to think he'd lead them to Loman now. Basically, all they'd achieved was to piss Vecchio off more, get Welsh's back up, and apparently offend the entirety of the 27th district who thought the Mountie walked on water. And he had to keep up the appearance of solidarity with a partner who was pissed as hell at him and who, frankly, he wasn't too fond of either right now.

This wasn't the first time Thoreau had gone off on some kind of side crusade, sometimes his instincts were good, sometimes he jumped too soon on shit that wasn't even real. Whitman had the sinking suspicion this was one of those times. So, great, he got to be the one to try to appease Vecchio, see what lead they could scare up, keep Thoreau from digging himself deeper into a hole, _and_ answer the phone every time his boss called demanding a progress report.

His instinct that he didn't want to know where Thoreau had been taking off to when they were off duty was confirmed when Thoreau greeted him on Thursday morning with a growled, "Would have been helpful if someone clued us in that Constable Fraser's screwing the Inspector." So, great. Barking up the wrong tree, wasting time, and failing completely to work well with the locals. Not calculated to make anyone upstairs happy.

Perhaps he should have taken the alternative career as an English teacher that he'd always wondered about. Because this whole set up was for the birds. But they had a major league criminal to catch, and if Whitman wasn't mistaken in his reading of the Vecchio's absence from his desk and Welsh's waffling, Vecchio must have turned something up in his paperchase. Following any kind of lead that didn't involve harassing Mounties seemed like a damned fine idea.

o-O-o-O-o

The last half of the week was going much better for Meg and Ben. After some amount of ferrying Ben around on Tuesday evening, because she needed to be with him, but he needed to be home to take care of Diefenbaker, Meg had decided that just for the moment she was going to ignore any trivial rules about pets in her apartment.

Wednesday night after she left work at the Consulate, Meg picked up Fraser, telling him to bring his overnight bag and pack for the wolf to come along too.

And in another act of unprecedented spontaneity, Meg called in to the Consulate to let Turnbull know that she would be out the next day. She saw no reason not to take Thursday off to spend with her lover, leaving the Consulate in the tender care of the officious Ovitz and the bumbling Turnbull. And she didn't care! Let them make a total disaster of things. Meg deserved a day off. She had come to the decision that she and Ben both deserved a lot more happiness together than they'd managed to find separately, and she was accustomed to acting swiftly once she'd made a decision about something.

Diefenbaker was more than happy to have a new place to sniff around. He even seemed to understand that getting on the furniture was not going to lead to a pleasant outcome. Meg was skeptical but pleased that he seemed to have accepted her place in his owner's life. Well, mostly. If she didn't count being bailed up in the corner of her own bedroom while Fraser was brushing his teeth before bed. Meg could swear the wolf was interrogating her as to her _intentions_, and began to question her own sanity when she found herself replying.

"No, of course it's not casual. I don't invite men to sleep over casually. Don't sniff at me like that. Yes, I know he was yours first." Rolling her eyes at the wolf. And then baring her teeth? Well, it was a message the wolf seemed to get. The part where Fraser emerged from the bathroom and just grinned at her in a way that said he knew _exactly_ what was going on made it even more disconcerting. Still, it was bound to happen, and Meg hoped that was the last of it, because she really didn't fancy putting a submission hold on the wolf. But her house, her man, she wasn't going to let the wolf boss her around.

Thursday morning, Fraser rose later than was his habit, sleeping in until the daring hour of seven am, and then padded into Meg's kitchen in a t-shirt and boxer shorts to see what he could assemble for breakfast. Her kitchen was as beautifully appointed as the rest of the apartment, but it didn't seem to get much use. He was astonished upon opening the oven door to see if it was gas or electric to find several sweaters neatly stacked on the as-new shiny clean oven racks. Apparently she used it as storage.

She did have the bare basics for making pancakes, although it was unclear to Fraser WHY she had flour, considering that she obviously never baked. He used a tupperware container for a mixing bowl, and when Meg awoke and wandered in to join him in her nightgown, it was to find breakfast ready and waiting. At least she had a patriotic quantity of maple syrup in the fridge.

o-O-o-O-o

Ray found the break he was looking for at quarter past ten, the fourth nail salon he'd been into that morning. His early start from the station had been pointless, none of the salons opened until ten, so he'd sat in the Riviera really wishing he had someone to talk to, even a deaf wolf demanding donuts.

At the fourth salon he showed the picture of Camilla, pointing out the artwork on her nails. A woman who worked there looked at the picture.

"Yes! I know her! Cami! She's a good customer. Why do you want to know?" Suddenly she was suspicious.

With no Mountie around to act as his conscience, Ray went with a blatant lie. "Well, miss, we've been asked to find her by the lawyer responsible for her great uncle's estate. Turns out she is his only living relative, and she stands to inherit a bundle." He sold this with a broad smile.

"Ohhhh..." the manicurist seemed impressed. "Well, I'll tell you, you can go ask her Mama." She wrote down an address for him on the back of a business card.

Ray went back to the Riviera. Finally, he had something. The girl's mother had proved impossible to trace previously, having apparently moved around a lot without benefit of leases and lived in shared accommodations where her name wasn't always on the utility bills. He'd found the last place she lived, but not her current residence. Maybe she'd be able to tell him where Camilla might be. He just wanted someone to share the thrill of the chase, picking up the scent, with him. He shrugged and picked up his phone. On leave or not, Fraser at least owed it to him to put up with his exultation at getting a step closer to Loman.

o-O-o-O-o

After a long, lazy breakfast, Meg suggested a quiet day in. She knew that her physically active lover must be going crazy at his confinement, but she also knew that the more he allowed his body time to repair the damage done to it, the sooner he'd be back running over rooftops. Not that she was sure she was happy about that, but for the meantime, it was light activity only.

Fraser was delighted, on nosing into the bookshelf in Meg's living room, to find a well read copy of Kipling's Just So Stories. He had faint but happy memories of his mother reading that book to him when he was a young boy, and it seemed like a good sign that she still had a copy, obviously treasured. Inside he found the inscription, "To Margaret, on her birthday, 1968, Gran and Grampa."

Meg, having put their small number of breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, wandered in to find him looking at it. She'd immediately, greedily, demanded that he read to her. He had such a beautiful voice. She loved the way his carefully cultivated elocution would sometimes give way to a word or two in the tell-tale drawl that spoke of his home in the far North West.

They were camped on the living room floor, his back leaning against the front of her sofa, she seated between his outstretched legs, leaning back into his good side, his arms wrapped around her so he could hold the book and read it over her shoulder.

He had just finished reading _The Elephant's Child_, about the young pachyderm that kept getting spanked by aunts and uncles of various species for asking too many questions. It was a story that Fraser could relate to. Meg closed her eyes, letting his voice, his smell, his warm touch suffuse her.

The stories were narrated by the author to his 'Best Beloved', and every time Fraser read those words, she heard his voice tremble slightly, powerful meaning coming through his light tone.

Now Ben was beginning _The Cat that Walked by Himself_. Diefenbaker sat with his back turned ostentatiously during the feline literary moment. Fraser loved the opportunity to use the words in the story to say things he wasn't ready to. He could feel how Meg shivered when he said it, a sort of contented wriggle that drove him crazy.

"Hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild." he read.

There was that shiver, her lithe, soft body moving against his, and it made his voice turn husky and low as he continued reading. Meg thought his voice sounded like pure sex when it got like that. How had she overlooked certain... elements of his personality for so long? She bit her lip, thinking of his mouth pressed against hers.

"Of course the Man was wild too. He was _dreadfully_ wild. He didn't even begin to be tame till he met the Woman, and she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways." Ben read, with a dry tone of humor to his voice. The comparison between his stark bachelor apartment and her cozy home was apt. Meg giggled.

Then his phone rang, and as Ben shifted to find it where he'd placed it on her coffee table and answer it, Meg wondered why she'd thought the damned thing was a good idea at all. She didn't want the magic of this moment broken. No other man she'd been with would have been so comfortable in his own skin sitting reading to her from a children's book they both loved.

The suitable men were all good at the proper number of red roses, and needless to say the correct clarity, color, cut and carats of diamonds for each holiday occasion, but not at letting their guard down and being playful with her. And there was just no way any of them would have called her "best beloved" in that throaty voice that turned two words into the sweetest, hottest caress she'd ever felt. Playful could be... playful could be good. Very good.

"Ray!"

Meg was amused at the surprised delight with which Fraser greeted his friend. It wasn't like many people had his number, in fact just she and Ray, which meant that surprised delight was hardly called for.

"Oh, that's great news, Ray. You went back down to the South Side? And you have an address? The girl's mother? That's a good start. I'm sorry I can't be there, too."

Meg gathered that it was something to do with the Loman case. She knew Ben was itching to be a part of it. She was still sitting curled up to him, and with the hand that wasn't holding the phone, he rubbed her shoulder, letting her know he was still present with her, even though they'd been interrupted.

"I really think that waiting for back up might be advisable. No, I know time is short."

Meg could hear concern in Ben's warm tones.

"Well, all right, but be careful, then. Call me if you find anything. Understood. Good bye, Ray."

He reached over her to set the phone back down, and then snuggled Meg back into the position she'd been in when they were interrupted. She liked the firm, possessive way he pulled her back to him. It wasn't rough, but it was very definite, very sure of what he wanted. Again she marveled at how touch seemed to transform him. Although, to be honest, she had to wonder what it did to her, whether she'd been missing this her whole life, too, because she had never felt so cherished, not since the first flush of romance with Rafael. And that wasn't real, but this was.

"Now, where was I?" Fraser said. He picked up the book again, and started where he left off, with the story of the taming of the first Man in the world by the first Woman.

"-she told him that she did not like living in his wild ways. She picked out a nice dry Cave, instead of a heap of wet leaves, to lie down in; and she strewed clean sand on the floor; and she lit a nice fire of wood at the back of the Cave; and she hung a dried wild-horse skin, tail-down, across the opening of the Cave; and she said, 'Wipe you feet, dear, when you come in, and now we'll keep house.'"

As he read, Ben wondered at the position he was in. It was such a short time since he'd gone from "I'm not sure if she likes me or despises me," to "Having her in my arms is the most natural thing in the world." It was a fragile feeling, a spring shoot pushing upwards from dark earth sort of feeling, and he treasured it. It seemed to fill him with a warmth that was more than the shared body heat of the two of them pressed together.

On the one hand, he hoped that he would never learn to take it for granted. On the other, he hoped it would last long enough that he'd have the chance to remember not to take it for granted. He paused his reading to brush the hair aside from her her shoulder and lean down to kiss her soft skin where her nightgown strapped crossed it. She must know how beautiful she was, although he had a mind to stop reading altogether and start telling her that, maybe showing her that.

Just at that moment, Fraser's phone rang again. He snatched it up, his mood divided evenly between extreme irritation at the timing of interruption and concern that Ray was calling back so soon.

"Benton Fraser speaking." he answered crisply, expecting to hear Ray. Instead he heard silence, then a crash, then the dial tone.

He stared at the phone a moment after taking it from his ear.

In an urgent voice he said, "I think Ray's in trouble."

**Author's Note: They're both the Cat.**

**As always, I thank you for reading and commenting. It makes the effort extra worthwhile.**


	6. Where Is He?

**Chapter 6 - Where Is He?**

Hearing that Ray might be in trouble, Meg immediately shifted into professional mode. "You'd better notify Welsh of what you know so far, and we'll get dressed."

Ben felt intense gratitude. She didn't even question as to whether they'd take action. She knew he was going to help Ray, and she assumed she was going to help too.

The first thing he did was call the station.

"Lieutenant Welsh, this is Benton Fraser. I just received a telephone call from Detective Vecchio, and I believe he may be in danger."

Welsh demanded information, and Fraser explained that he knew that Ray had been asking questions at nail salons on the South Side, then about the call in which nothing had been said.

"Could be nothing, could be bad." Welsh said. "We'll get on it. But you just stay out of it, Constable, I don't need someone else ending up in the middle of it."

"With all due respect, sir," the deadly words that meant he was going to say something Welsh really wouldn't like, "I'm on sabbatical. You can't tell me what to do."

On this defiant note that surprised even Fraser, he hung up. It wasn't that he didn't trust Welsh and the 27th. It was just that he trusted his own ability to track Ray far more. And he owed it to Ray. He should have been with him in the hunt for Loman all along. Then this wouldn't have happened. Whatever had happened. Not knowing was the worst thing. Fear for Ray gripped his stomach. Loman had already shown himself to be quite ruthless enough to dispose of anyone who might get in his way.

Meg had already dressed quickly in sensible black pants, flat shoes, and a dark sweater. Fraser noticed incidentally that it wasn't one of the ones from the oven. Apparently she had quite a lot of clothes. He changed into the clean jeans and shirt he'd brought over in his overnight bag. Twisting to pull the shirt on still caused his ribs to tug uncomfortably, but one couldn't live in sweats forever.

Diefenbaker sat alert by the front door. He had the gist of what was happening. Pack-mate Ray was in trouble somewhere, alpha pack-mate was going after him, and nice smelling new pack-mate who thought _she_ was alpha was coming with. Watching those two jostle for control was going to provide the wolf with months of amusement.

Thatcher drove down to the South side. She had a distinct recollection that Fraser's city driving was not to be trusted. The thought of his mulish adherence to traffic laws combined with a desperate urgency to find Ray suggested inevitable disaster. Her driving was slick and assured, and for once Fraser did not make a single comment about running red lights or making illegal turns. She slowed down once they got to the neighborhood where Ray was supposed to have been, and they looked for his distinctive green Buick.

"There!" Fraser said, and Meg pulled over to let him and Diefenbaker out while she parked. He walked around the Riviera. To the rear, in the gutter behind the car, there was a mucky residue, and he crouched down to examine the heel print of a shoe. It was undoubtedly the print from one of Ray's expensive loafers. Ray must have been in a hurry or he'd have stepped over the mud. Fraser sighed and rubbed his eyebrow. In a hurry on a case that he should have been working, too. In a hurry to arrest a man who'd tried to have Fraser and Thatcher killed.

Meg joined him, having parked the car, as he walked slowly in the direction the footprint pointed, eyes to the ground. Diefenbaker stopped in front of a small object on the pavement. Fraser bent down suddenly, and Meg saw him pick the object up. He appeared to be sniffing it, and then, to her surprise, he held it up to his mouth and licked it.

"Well, that was undeniably disgusting," Meg thought. He seemed completely unconcerned that he had just stuck something that had been lying in the gutter into his mouth. Meg wrinkled her nose and thought, "One, I don't ever want to _see_ you do that again. Two, please, please, please just promise me that you will never kiss me after you lick something that's been lying on the ground, until you have brushed your teeth." But this wasn't the time to air that concern. There would be time later if Vecchio was- _when_ Vecchio was safe- to discuss licking foreign objects prior to kissing.

"What did you find?" she asked.

"It's a business card for a nail salon. Ray said that he had an address for the mother of the woman he was looking for. I wasn't sure if this was the card, but I thought I detected the faint citrus scent of the polish Ray uses on his steering wheel, and when I tasted it, it was definitely carrying a residue from his hands."

Meg nodded. "All right, let's go."

They walked the short distance to the address on the card. As they approached, they saw a woman coming out the door. She looked a lot like the photo of Camilla Dawson that Fraser had seen, bleach blonde, overly made up, full acrylic nails in a gaudy spectacle of airbrushing that went beyond taste, but carrying about fifty pounds more weight than her daughter.

As the woman saw them, she started to go back into the building she lived in. But Fraser moved fast, slamming his sneaker-clad foot in the door so that she couldn't close it. He shouldered the door open, and grabbed her by the wrist. Diefenbaker sat behind him blocking the door in case the woman got any ideas of escape.

Meg was astonished by this sudden burst of aggression. He wasn't holding the woman in a way that hurt her, but he still seemed to be channelling his fiery-tempered partner.

"Where is he? Where did you send him?" Fraser demanded, not bothering to specify who.

"Leave me alone." the woman whimpered. "I got enough troubles without you coming around. Just leave me alone."

"Tell me where he is." Fraser said. "Where did you tell Detective Vecchio to look for your daughter? Is Loman with her? Where did you send him?"

The blonde woman quivered, quailing away from Fraser's intensity.

"It's not her fault. You can't stick it on her. I told her to take the money and get out months ago." she said. Her voice was a frantic babble. "He kept her in style, but I made her stash all that money he was trying to hide in her name. I made sure he couldn't get it. I'm not stupid. I got her those special bank accounts. He was so angry he couldn't just get his money and leave her, but I'm not stupid."

Ordinarily, this information would have been of interest, and Thatcher was filing it away mentally, aware that Fraser was not taking it in at all. It made sense that Loman had not left the area if he'd been socking money away with his bimbo girlfriend only to find out her shrewd mother had made sure he couldn't touch it.

"I don't give a damn about the money." Fraser's voice was harsh, the mild expletive startling bursting from his lips. "Where are they?" Fraser reiterated. He had not let go of the grip on her arm.

The woman was still babbling, terrified. "So he comes over all fired up and tells her to get the money, they're going, but I say he can't and he hit me, jesus christ."

Meg noticed the faded bruise on her cheek bone for the first time.

"So he makes her go to the bank, get the ball rolling to get the money out of the accounts I made her put it in, but they had to wait, they to hide."

Fraser spoke slowly, quietly, and with an unmistakable menace that sent chills up and down Meg's spine. His fingers tightened on the woman's arm.

"Where are they hiding? Where did you send Ray?"

"It's not her fault, you can't take her money away. He gave it to her. I thought when the cop came looking, they're going to take the money away. So I told him to go to the Y, I called her up, said the cops are coming, you have to take care of it, she calls me back she says he killed him, oh, my god, he killed a cop, but it's not her fault, you can't stick it on her. You can't take her money."

Meg detached Fraser's hand from the woman's arm with some force. He was staring blankly ahead, his face drained of color. He didn't seem to register that the woman had still been raving about the money. All he'd heard was "Oh, my god, he killed a cop."

"The Y." Thatcher said. "The YMCA? Where?"

The woman looked like she was about to turn and run, but under Thatcher's fierce gaze she finally said, "The old Y, it's just an empty building now, down on Halsted."

"Come on." Thatcher said. "Let's go." She took Fraser by the hand. He was still blinking and stunned looking. His limbs felt leaden, and time didn't seem to be moving at all, he was frozen. Ray? Ray Vecchio? Dead? No...

"I refuse to believe he's dead. Come on! Quickly." Thatcher said.

Diefenbaker barked and jumped up, snapping lightly at the legs of Fraser's jeans. Fraser looked puzzled as he looked down at the wolf.

"He wants you to get a move on. We are _not_ giving up on Vecchio." Thatcher said.

Fraser opened his mouth but couldn't get any words out. It was hard to believe he was getting air in. How could he still be standing here, alive and well, while Ray Vecchio - no, it couldn't be true, it couldn't. Meg was right. He had to hope, had to believe Ray was still alive. In which case, there was no time to waste. Worse than the thought of Ray lying dead was Ray dying somewhere, bleeding on some floor, and not reaching him in time. That _could not_ happen. He followed Thatcher, her hand still locked in his.

They ran down the street until they reached the intersection with Halsted, then over less than a block to the old brick building with YMCA painted in faded letters on the side. Thatcher found a side door, but it was locked. She stood back and swung her leg to kick the door in. Fraser shook his head, snapping out of his state of shock, and joined in. They had the door down in seconds.

It was dim inside, the windows on the building covered in the grime of years. It was perfect for an ambush - whatever had happened to Ray, and, Thatcher worried, whatever could happen to them if they weren't careful. Fraser still wasn't himself. She could tell that he wasn't totally present, his mind clouded by the panicky fear that Ray was already dead, it was already too late.

The door from the outside led into a series of offices with a long corridor down one side. Thatcher, Diefenbaker and Fraser followed the corridor to another door that stood ajar at the end of it. Fraser pushed this door open silently with his foot. Behind it there were stairs leading down into a pitch black area. He heard a very faint moan.

"Meg." he said, his voice quivering with a certain desperate hope. "Do you hear that?"

"Mmhmm." she said quietly. "But be careful."

At the top of the stairs were some light switches, but flipping them had no effect. Either the power was out to that part of the building, or there were no bulbs in the fixtures. The door let in only a small quantity of grey light from the corridor outside. They descended the small flight of stairs slowly and cautiously. It could still be an ambush. On the second stair from the bottom, Fraser's foot touched something. He leaned down and picked up a shattered piece of Ray's phone. His heart beat wildly. Was Ray down here, still alive? Was Loman down here in the dark, too? Waiting? And he'd brought Meg in here? He put a hand back to where she was behind him, indicating that she should stay back. She stifled a sigh. She knew why. But letting _him_ walk down there alone was no better. They should have waited for Welsh and backup, but there hadn't been time.

Fraser kept walking down, quietly. Diefenbaker was right at his heel, grimly alert. At the bottom of the stairs, Fraser came upon a soft obstacle. Kneeling down, he felt around gently. It was a person, a living, breathing person, with a pulse, although not as far as he could tell, conscious. His eyes were beginning to adapt to the dark, but even without the dimmest vision, he could tell by touch and of course, scent, that particular choice of cologne, the slight, barely noticeable odor of the silk in his tie. It was Ray, alive, breathing, unconscious. Fraser exhaled the breath that he'd been holding since his foot bumped against Ray. That still didn't answer the question as to whether Loman was lurking in the darkness of the large basement they were in.

The door at the top of the stairs slamming closed gave him a clue as to the answer to that question.

**Author's Note: Wow, actual plot. You could knock me down with a feather! Hope you enjoy it. More thrilling suspense to come in the next chapter. Thank you as always for reading and reviewing. My readers are the best!**


	7. Fault Line

**Chapter 7 - Fault Line**

"Ben!" Meg called out, not loudly, but clearly enough for him to hear.

"He's down here. He's alive. He must have fallen or been pushed down the stairs." Fraser said. "Try the door. I imagine it's locked."

Meg ran back up the stairs and threw herself against the door. It was, in fact, locked.

"It's no good." she said. Do you think you can help me break it down?"

"No, I'm afraid I got a look at the hinges and the lock on the way in. It's a lot sturdier than that outside door. I don't know what they used to store down here, but we can't break it without some kind of ram."

"Don't you have matches, or anything?" Meg said.

Fraser thought. He didn't, but Ray might. But first he had to make sure that Ray was going to be all right.

"Hold on a moment." he said. He gently checked Ray's airway with his fingers, and when he was happy that there was no obstacle to Ray's breathing, he took off his shirt and rolled it up, placing it around Ray's head to keep it immobile and cushioned. Then he turned Ray onto his side to make sure he could keep breathing.

After that was done, he felt through Ray's jacket pockets, quickly finding a book of matches. He struck one of the matches and looked down to see a nasty bump on the side of Ray's head that accounted for his current state.

Just then, Ray stirred, his eyes blinking open.

"Oh, thank god." Fraser said. "Meg, he's conscious."

Meg was busy trying to get a signal with her cell phone to call for help. She made a frustrated sound. "Listen, we need to get out and get help for him." she said briskly. "He must have called you from upstairs, there's no reception here. We need to break down the door. Look around and see if there's anything we can use."

Ben was grateful for her taking charge. He had been shaken up by believing Ray was dead. He lit another match after the first one died, and with the flickering light, looked around.

"Augh. Headache." Ray said quietly. Fraser kept a hand on his shoulder, firmly but gently keeping him from trying to move.

"Sorry, Ray, it appears that you took quite a fall." he said. "We're looking for a way out."

"Loman." Ray groaned. "Pisser."

"Hmm." Fraser said. Well, Ray seemed cognitively perfectly fine, if not happy.

Fraser struck a third match. He was wasting them, but it had been worth it to hear Ray talk. He felt like the little match girl, conjuring miraculous visions out of the tiny light. Of course, she'd died alone in the cold, so perhaps that wasn't a productive line of thought. Lines of thought like, "What is that large cylindrical object over there, and could I use it to break in a door?" were better.

"Ray, I have to leave you for a moment. I'll be right here, but I have to see if we can't break the door down. Diefenbaker's right here by you. All right?"

"Uh. Yeah." Ray said. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on. He did know he'd been following a lead on Loman. He had no recollection of anything after leaving the station that morning. But he knew his head hurt like a bitch, his left arm felt like it was bent at the wrong angle and was sending stabbing messages of agony back in to central command, the wolf was lying cozied up to him like he needed some sort of canine nursemaid, and Benny was talking to him like he was in preschool, so it couldn't be great.

Fraser conserved matches, moving unerringly through the gloom to where he had seen something that looked like the right size and shape to do the job. He felt around it. It was apparently a discarded fire extinguisher, quite sizeable. He hefted it up. It was worth a try. Leverage would be difficult. And there was the small matter of a certain nagging injury. But they couldn't afford to wait to get Ray medical care. Who knew how long he'd been unconscious?

Fraser carried the extinguisher to the base of the stairs. He skirted carefully around where he knew Ray lay.

"Meg, could you please come down here and look after Ray? There's not room for both of us on to stay on the stairs while I try to break down the door. I found a fire extinguisher."

"Hmm. I don't think so." Meg said. "You give me the fire extinguisher, you stay with Ray, and I'll break the door down."

Her tone was openly authoritarian.

"I have greater upper body strength." Fraser argued.

"And you have a mess of stitches that you'll probably yank right out if you try."

Ray laughed. It wasn't a strong laugh, but it silenced the arguing couple.

"Benny, she's right, stop trying to be a gentleman and give her the damn thing." he said.

Diefenbaker chimed in with two short barks and a whining growl. Ray could swear it was just as if the wolf was agreeing that Fraser needed to stop trying to be a tough guy and let Meg get on with it. Hanging around with the Mountie was warping his brain.

"Oh." Fraser said. Somehow he felt that this was a portentous moment. It was possible that any time he tried to do anything even moderately risky in the future, he'd have his lover and his best friend _and_ his wolf allied against him implacably. But at least that meant they were all getting along. What a strange situation it was. He passed the fire extinguisher up to Meg and went back to sit next to Ray.

Meg swung the fire extinguisher against the door in an awkward arc. It hit with a hollow thud that wasn't pleasant to hear, especially not for Ray who felt like his head might as well be between the extinguisher and the door. The next swing caught it closer to the lock, and the swing after brought a splintering sound along with the thud.

This chorus of noise was joined by the blessed sound of sirens.

"Welsh must have found us." Fraser said, "You'll be out of here soon, Ray."

"Yeah, and then someone can tell me how I got in here."

With a final crash and clatter, the door tore loose from the lock and Meg kicked it part way open. The muted light from above shone into the basement.

Footsteps came toward the door. Meg peered around it and then pulled back, flattening against the wall.

"Loman," she hissed. "And the girl."

Fraser was up the stairs quickly and quietly within seconds. The arrival of the police must have driven the fleeing Loman back into the building. If he was armed, they had a potential hostage situation. More to the point, they were potentially hostages.

Fraser poked his head around the door quickly. Loman had his back to the door, fortunately, or he'd have noticed they'd broken it open. He was arguing with the bleached blonde girl that Fraser recognized as Camilla Dawson.

"Rush them?" Thatcher whispered in his ear.

"On three." Fraser agreed. It wasn't a great plan, but with Ray Vecchio in need of urgent medical care, they didn't have time for the situation to devolve into a standoff. Thatcher considered telling him to take the girl down, she'd get Loman. After all, Loman tried to have her killed. But that would end up in a time-wasting argument.

"One, two, _three_." Fraser said, and with that they charged forward. Loman turned, but he didn't have time to draw his weapon before Fraser was on him. Meg wasted no time punching Camilla in the jaw. Camilla collapsed weakly, holding her jaw and crawling away from the fray as Meg grabbed Loman from behind.

"I've got him." she said. She was not about to tolerate Fraser getting hurt again, even if Loman was old enough to be his father, and not nearly as strong as Fraser. There was some irony in the fact that the man who'd caused them so much harm was neither physically imposing, nor, without the protection of money and status, much of a threatening presence at all.

Fraser wished he were in uniform. The lanyard would have come in handy. But bizarrely enough, even on the run Loman was wearing a tie. Fraser unknotted it quickly and bound his hands behind his back.

"Police! Come out slowly with your hands where we can see them." A voice boomed from outside.

"Go on then." Meg said to Camilla, not too unkindly, helping her to her feet. The girl wasn't really guilty of anything but bad judgement. Fraser grabbed Loman and dragged him upright and pushed him out of the building. Too bad the police couldn't see Loman's hands. Probably they wouldn't shoot him, Fraser thought, the vengeful feeling surprising him. Loman should never have threatened Meg's life.

Uniformed police placed Loman under arrest, replacing the necktie with handcuffs. Fraser told them that there was an injured Chicago PD detective in the building, in need of assistance. Then he turned and ran back in. He'd left Ray with no-one watching over him but Diefenbaker for too long for his comfort. It didn't take long to reach Ray's side again.

Meg climbed down the stairs and sat beside Fraser. At least this time it wasn't him bleeding out, and Ray seemed lucid and so far wasn't complaining of other injuries, although she could see that Ben was still worried about the detective.

His fault. Fraser was pretty sure that Ray was lying at the bottom of some stairs, with a nasty looking bump on the head, waiting for an ambulance, because he'd let him down.

Not his fault. Ray could tell just from the quality of the silence that surrounded Fraser that the Mountie was off on a wave of guilt and self-loathing. It didn't take much for him to blame himself. It wasn't his fault that Ray had - well, Ray was pretty sure, he couldn't remember, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Fraser's fault that he was here. He did remember the reasons why he'd gone out alone, and although Fraser's sabbatical was one thing, Ray knew he could have had Welsh assign him someone to go along when he left the station to look for Camilla that morning. But he'd been in too much of a hurry.

"Benny, it's not your fault." he said.

Meg looked surprised. Did Vecchio really think Ben was blaming himself for the situation? As far as she could tell, Vecchio had rushed in heedlessly and got himself into this mess. Not that she didn't feel for him, but how could it be Ben's fault?

"Well, Ray, I don't quite see it that way." Fraser said. "I'm your partner. I'm supposed to be there for you." He wasn't ready to tell Ray that they'd thought he was dead. But Ray could hear something grim in his voice.

"What happened?" he demanded. "What actually happened?"

"You went to see the girl's mother." Meg said. "She sent you here but she called her daughter and it was an ambush. When Ben tracked you to the mother, the daughter had told her that you were-"

She didn't get the last word out, because Fraser made a choking sound and grabbed her hand, squeezing it.

"Dead, huh?" Ray said, laconically. "Well, I'm not. Benny, I'm fine, and it sounds like it was my own damn stupid fault. It sounds like I walked right into this one!"

There was a commotion at the top of the stairs, and then Welsh's voice.

"I agree, Detective. Next time, you call for back up, and you wait for it to arrive. That would also apply to certain Canadians I see here. You all want to rush off heroically and get yourselves killed, go do it in Canada."

He came down and squatted beside Vecchio. "Anything broken except your thick skull, Detective?"

"Eh. I wouldn't want to say." Ray said. He was pretty sure his left arm was. But Fraser wasn't the only one who could conceal pain. Let the paramedics sort it when they got there. "How'd you find us?"

"You got lucky. Those Feds who you've been pissing and moaning about were not too pleased that you'd taken off to follow a lead without informing them this morning. As usual, you left paperwork all over your desk. Whitman found the bank record you dug up yesterday. I heard an earful about that, Detective. We'll talk about that later. Anyway, while you hit the pavement, Thoreau and Whitman hit some kind of national database, found the address where the girl and her mother were living. They had the decency to let me know that before they lit out after you." Welsh's voice was decidedly acid, but evidently softened with some regard for the state of his detective's head.

"They saw Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher questioning the girl's mother. When these two came in here and didn't come out, Whitman called me for backup." He did not tell them how relieved he'd been to receive that call, coming on the heels of Fraser's disturbing call suggesting Ray was in danger. All told, he wasn't very happy with either the detective or the Mountie for rushing headlong into this one, but at least, thank god, Vecchio wasn't too badly hurt.

"Sorry, Vecchio, the Feds are probably going to get the credit for the Loman collar, even though it was your legwork." Welsh concluded. "But hell, I'm glad enough to see the back of them that I might not remember to stay mad at you for coming in here alone."

As the paramedics came downstairs to take care of Ray, Welsh pulled Thatcher aside.

"Does Constable Fraser need to get checked out? Ray told me he was having a rough recovery."

Thatcher smiled at the concern in the Lieutenant's gravelly voice.

"No, I think he's all right. He also has exceptionally sharp hearing, so I know he can hear me now when I tell you that if he does anything to so much as tug one stitch loose in the next week, he'll have to answer to me, and I won't be pleased."

Welsh broke into a grin. Wow. She could still muster the dragon lady voice for the Constable as a romantic partner. He wasn't sure if he envied the young man or pitied him; either way their relationship shouldn't be devoid of fireworks of one sort or another.

Sitting in the hospital waiting room while Ray was taken care of, Fraser leaned back against Meg. A nurse had given him a blanket, since he had used his shirt as a pillow for Ray's head, he was now clad only in a thin sleeveless undershirt over his jeans, and he held the blanket close around him against the cool air conditioning. Diefenbaker was curled under his seat, not supposed to be there, but no one was going to point it out.

"He's really going to be all right, isn't he?"

"Yes, sweetheart." Meg hardly realized the endearment she'd used. It just came naturally. "He's going to be fine. We got there in time."

"But I should have been with him."

"You can't change what happened. It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

Who had ever held Benton Fraser and told him that? No one in a very, very long time. He closed his eyes and felt the soft touch of her hands stroking his shoulders soothingly. He had this, but because of this, he hadn't been there for Ray, and Ray had nearly died. He wondered if he could ever do enough to deserve to be loved. All he had loved, he lost. Those he loved got hurt. He had Meg's comfort, but could he afford the cost? What would be taken from him?

"Everything's going to be all right. I'll make sure of that. Trust me." Meg said, softly, into his ear. She knew that after this there was no way that he could sit out a couple of months on the sidelines. Even though Ray Vecchio would be off active duty a while, the minute he was back out on the streets, Ben would need to be there with him. Which meant it was time for her to figure out what her side of the bargain was. She'd said she'd fight for their -their love, she admitted to herself, it was love - and now it was time to follow through.

**Author's Note: Hope that was worth the wait. There is one more chapter to go, in which there may very well be a happy ending. Thanks for reading, and as always, thanks so much for the constructive feedback.**


	8. Ever After

**Ever After**

Ever since Ray got out of the hospital after an overnight stay to set his arm and keep an eye on his concussion, Fraser had been sticking close by him. Meg noticed and was not surprised. They still spent time together, but she sensed an evasiveness and she somehow knew not to try inviting him to stay overnight again. He was in retreat, protecting himself. He was just as warm and loving when they were together, but out of some instinct he was slowing down their rapid rush toward a full-blown relationship.

Meg understood why. They had been moving very fast. He was still carrying the burden of thinking that he had to choose between her and the uniform. She'd tried to tell him over dinner one night that it wasn't true, that she could be the one to choose. But his face had settled into the mask as he said he wouldn't, couldn't be with her and be responsible for her abandoning the career she loved. And the next thing she knew he was talking about some caribou on the side of a mountain, whatever that was all about. So that was that- for now she wasn't talking about it. Not until she had something definite to tell him.

Not that she was a saint, not that she didn't feel hurt and betrayed by the way he was guarding himself. Not that she didn't end up going home after that and yelling at her bedroom mirror all the things she'd bitten her tongue not to say to him, not to say and ruin everything.

"Why won't he listen? I'm trying. I'm trying my best. What is it? Aren't I worth it? Why the hell won't he let me in? God, why does it have to be so hard? Why can't it be fair?"

She wished her career hadn't been so all-consuming. Along the way she'd lost touch with most of her old friends. They were all married or busy with lives of their own. There was really no-one whose shoulder she could cry on.

She did have things in motion. Welsh might not be the sort of person on whose shoulder one could bawl, but he was the sort of man who had contacts, and who was more than happy to pull strings for her when she asked about law enforcement related opportunities in Chicago. At first he thought she was asking for Fraser's sake. But when he understood, he was enthusiastic about making things right for her. He was also swift to act, calling in favors and pulling strings. The way he saw it, her little plan would get his department back in order. In spite of Fraser's unofficial status and penchant for finding trouble where others would not, things had just been going better ever since he had started hanging around. He was an asset that Welsh sorely missed, though he'd be sure never to let anyone know that.

A week after Ray got out of hospital he was allowed back on desk duty. He called Fraser and badgered him relentlessly.

"Why don't you stop by the station? I'm bored. You wouldn't be on duty. I mean, my annoying sister can hang around, what's stopping you? You wouldn't leave me here all alone with all this paperwork, would you?"

Fraser acquiesced readily enough. He missed the buzz of the station, he missed the easy companionship of his partner, that wasn't fraught with the romantic tension of his time spent with Meg, and it wasn't like he had a lot to do with his time. He was still half-heartedly looking through the job ads in the mornings, and he was still spending the evenings with Meg or Ray, or both of them, but that left a long stretch of day with not a lot to fill it. He'd never experienced aimlessness like that and it wasn't really to his taste. It gave him way too much time to worry about things not working out.

Fraser received a warm welcome from everyone down at the 27th. He was touched by how much he seemed to have been missed, and happy to be able to say that he was very nearly fully recovered from the gunshot wound that had been partly responsible for keeping him out of action. Before he settled at Ray's desk, Welsh pulled him aside to reiterate that he did not hold the Mountie responsible for Ray's rash actions that lead to Ray's concussion and broken arm. Fraser still wasn't convinced, but it was good for him to be reminded that there were other perspectives on his overwhelming feelings of responsibility.

Ray and Fraser sat chatting while Ray supposedly filled in paperwork. Fraser's phone rang. He was still getting used to carrying it around and being in contact at any time.

"Excuse me, Ray." he said. He answered the phone, "Hello, Benton Fraser speaking," even though of course it was Meg and he didn't have to be so formal.

"Sweetheart! I've got some great news I want to celebrate." Meg said. "Will you meet me for dinner tonight? The restaurant we had our first date at? Wear something nice?" she was talking very fast.

"Um. Yes, of course. What time?" Fraser asked.

"Eight o'clock. See you there. Miss you." Meg said.

Fraser smiled. That was how she always signed off from their phone calls, but there was so much tenderness in the word.

"I miss you too. I'll see you tonight."

"Date night?" Ray asked with a teasing grin.

"Yes, she said she had some good news. I wonder what it could be?" Fraser speculated.

Just then, Ray's phone rang. Fraser heard Ray's side of the conversation.

"Hey- oh! Okay. Yes, sure, I'll be there. Great!" He was smiling as he hung up.

"Who was that?" Fraser asked.

"Dry cleaner." Ray said. Fraser tilted his head to one side. Hmm. But he left it alone, if Ray wanted to be mysterious, he could be mysterious. Diefenbaker gave Ray a curious look. That wasn't the dry-cleaner's voice on the phone.

Fraser felt much more confident dressing for his second attempt at a date at this restaurant. Meg had shown him by now that she wasn't embarrassed by him, in fact, that she seemed to appreciate his down to earth qualities, as long as he wasn't self-conscious about it. He spent time making sure his hair was perfectly combed and his shave as close as he could get it. He didn't think he looked terribly impressive in the suit, but so far she didn't seem to be complaining about being stuck with a scrawny guy like him.

Things went more smoothly. The sommelier knew immediately that Meg would be looking at the wine list, Fraser had eyes only for her and didn't have a chance to be nervous. She was looking beautiful. She'd done her hair in a simple style that lifted it off her face and framed her eyes. But more than that, she seemed to have an animation and vitality that he hadn't seen before. She seemed wholeheartedly happy.

"So, you said you had some news?" Fraser asked after they had started eating.

"Mmm, yes." Meg said. Her eyes sparkled. "I have something to show you."

She reached down to her purse and pulled out an envelope. She unfolded the letter inside it and slid it across the table.

"Dear Margaret," the letter began, "we are delighted to offer you the position of Director of Law Enforcement Relations..."

Fraser skimmed over the rest of the letter, his mouth hanging open in surprise. It was an offer letter for a position at a not-for-profit organization.

Meg was openly grinning. "It's amazing. I asked Lieutenant Welsh to spread the word around that I was in the market for a new challenge and he found these people almost immediately. They've been looking for someone with my level of experience, and not having a lot of luck. It's a non-Government organization run by women, to help stamp out the trade in people smuggling.

"You know, a lot of desperate people, especially women and young girls, end up here and in Canada on false pretenses in virtual slavery just because they were trying to get out of poverty or a war zone. This group helps the women gain legal status and also goes after the people doing the smuggling. They want me to work directly with law enforcement agencies to help get justice for the victims. It's an incredible opportunity. I'd be a fool not to take it."

"You're leaving the RCMP?"

"I'm putting in my resignation tomorrow."

"And you're happy about it?"

"I couldn't be happier. They are doing such good work, Ben. And even though the salary is lower, it'd be a step up the career ladder for me. It would open doors for my future. And I never would have thought to look for it if we didn't need to find a solution to our problem."

"You're sure about this?" Fraser asked.

"I'm sure. Ben, sweetheart, I didn't join the Mounties so I could sit behind a desk and reprimand people for wearing the wrong uniform. You reminded me of that. Uncomfortably, at times. You stirred up all the ideals I lost along the way, all the dreams I had of changing the world. Well, I can do it. I can have a career that has more meaning than rising through the ranks just because it's expected of me, seeking promotion for no reason other than because that's how the game is played.

"You make me want to be a better person." she was leaning in close to him now. "You make me believe again all the things I thought I was naïve to believe in. You have this effect on people. I don't think you see it, because you give us credit already for being better than we are and that's something to live up to."

She grasped his hand, her dinner forgotten as they leaned across the table. "Benton Fraser, I love you."

Fraser's heart caught in his throat. She really was amazing. She was throwing away the career she'd built in the RCMP and she had the vision to turn that into something wonderful, something bigger than both of them.

"I love you, too." he said. "I don't want you to change because of me. I love you for who you are. I think the difference may be that I see all those things you say I inspire in you. They're already there, an integral part of who you are. I want to see you happy. If this job will make you happy, then I'm glad you took the chance on it."

He sighed slightly, shifting his hand in hers. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't see a way to solve the problem myself." He was slightly ashamed. The thought of leaving the RCMP had paralyzed him, whereas it had galvanized her to find something even better to move on to.

Meg frowned with impatience. She laced her fingers through his, keeping that line of contact open. Touch seemed to be so vital to communicating with him.

"You don't always have to be the hero." she said briskly. "You're not responsible for fixing every problem. We're together now. I should have seen from the start that the RCMP isn't just what you do, it's part of who you are. It wasn't fair to let you carry all the burden of making things work smoothly between us, and don't you ever dare feel guilty because for once I was the one who took action. Are we an equal partnership, or not?"

He smiled at this. That was his Meg, full of piss and vinegar. And she was right. He owed it to her to let her make the grand gestures sometimes. Although as far as he was concerned, that was never going to involve putting herself in danger to protect him. Not if he could help it.

"You're right. I can hardly believe this, though. Everything is -"

"I told you, every thing is going to be all right. And I meant it."

Meg leaned down one more time to reach for a bag at her feet. She slid the small shopping bag across the table to him.

"And just so you don't have to miss seeing me wear red... I'm not likely to forget how hot and bothered the dress uniform made you on the train."

Fraser peeked inside the bag. There was something lacy and silky and most definitely scarlet in there.

"Oh-" was all he managed to say, looking spectacularly flustered, before she took the bag back with a grin.

Ray walked into the restaurant and saw Fraser and Thatcher leaning across the table, hands clasped, lost in each other's eyes. It was clearly capital-L love, if he'd ever seen it. He felt awkward about interrupting them. But then Fraser looked up and his face broke into a wide smile at seeing Ray. Ray smiled back.

"Ray, what are you doing here? Join us?"

Meg said, "I invited him. I thought you'd want to share the good news."

Fraser's heart was so full. She did that? It was a special night for them, she'd removed the major obstacle to them being together, and yet she had the generosity to share even that with his partner, his best friend. It was as clear as possible that she was saying he'd never have to choose between them.

The waiter brought over an extra chair and cleared away Meg and Ben's almost untouched plates.

"I'll bring dessert menus." he said.

"Ray, Meg has the most wonderful news." Fraser said.

Meg shared the news of the job offer. Ray understood at once. This meant that Fraser was going to be able to stay in the force, and presumably still work as his partner. He couldn't help but feel relief. He hadn't wanted to burden Fraser with extra worry but he really hadn't been at all happy to be working without him.

"Welsh will be pleased," he said, not admitting openly that he was thrilled, although his face showed it, "We need you back, Benny, there's some kind of gang war breaking out between rival strip club owners and I don't know what else. We could really use your help."

Fraser glowed at the praise. It was good to be wanted.

Over coffee and dessert they talked about Meg's job offer, and how it meant she would still be working closely with many of her former colleagues.

"They were very impressed with my close ties to the RCMP of course," Meg said, and then with a sly smile, "and, Detective, with the Chicago PD."

Ray chuckled. "Not so bad having your subordinate hang out with some Chicago cop after all, then." he said.

"No, I should say not."

o-O-o-O-o

Meg's lease ran out around three months after she'd taken her new job. Which was a good thing, because there was no way she could afford to keep living there on her new salary. It felt good to be doing good, but the monetary rewards definitely weren't in line with the plans she'd always had for her future. It was an adjustment.

Ben went apartment hunting with her every night after work for a week. He could see that she was struggling to come to terms with the places she could afford. They were older, more run down, smaller, in bad neighborhoods. They were nothing like as shabby as his slum apartment, but still, they were definitely beneath her expectations. He tried to keep her spirits up, but he could see it was getting her down.

On Thursday he did some research of his own, and on Friday night, still in his red uniform, he dragged her to a relatively nice, quiet, middle class neighborhood to see an apartment he'd found. She was impressed that the building it was in was kept beautifully clean with well maintained plants around the front. The security system worked well, and inside, the common areas had neat, modern furniture, and, which seemed to impress Ben, there was only a minor extra cleaning charge for pets.

The apartment itself was definitely still older and smaller than the one she'd been living in. But it was cosy and homely, too. The walls were painted in warm tones, and had obviously been painted recently, and with care. The carpet was thick and luxurious, and importantly, clean. Meg could see most of her furniture fitting in nicely.

She spoke with the agent about the details of the lease. Her hopes sank at the monthly rent. It was still outside her budget, unless she wanted to eat nothing but beans and rice and stop putting money into savings.

"Can I have a moment?" she asked. The agent stepped outside and left her with Ben.

"It's beautiful, but I just can't afford it." she said. "I wish I could, and I do appreciate you finding it. Maybe we'll find something else like it."

Fraser took a deep breath. He'd been thinking about this all week and he thought he had the nerve to do it now.

"You could afford it- we could afford it- on two salaries." he said.

"Are you suggesting that we live in sin?" Meg teased. She wasn't actually averse to the idea.

Ah. The deer in the headlights look. Still so easy to conjure.

"Well, that is, we already - " Fraser stammered, "I mean, think of the savings on gas alone- we sleep together more or less every night anyway - but I didn't mean - if it bothers you- we could always get married."

It was Meg's turn to look stunned.

Ben realized what he had blurted out. He hadn't meant to ask her that way- or to ask her yet at all. There was still a lot of tension in their relationship, over where it was going, what they both wanted from the future. There were still times when she lost her temper too readily at him, there were times when he closed down emotionally when she needed him to be open. He had told her about Victoria and sought absolution that was not hers to give, she was still carrying her guilt at the way she'd treated him in the past, even though he'd long forgiven it. Those things were not going to vanish with the wave of a wand. But he knew he loved her and he knew damn well that regardless of anything else, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"Benton Fraser, did you just propose to me?"

Do or die. Back off and make a joke, or -

He dropped to one knee and took her hand. He could at least do it right the second time. Meg gasped, her other hand flying up to cover her open mouth. He was. He was proposing to her!

"I didn't mean to say it like that. " Ben said. "I would have liked it to be perfect for you. But I cannot imagine my life without you in it. I can't remember how I got by before you were mine. I know that I don't have a lot of worldly goods to offer, but I think that we make a good team. I think our strengths and weaknesses complement each other. Meg, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

It sounded old fashioned and corny to him. Worldly goods? Where on earth had that come from? He was sure she'd think he was crazy now. But there was no other way of asking that would do.

Meg's stood stunned for a moment. She found herself feeling decidedly stupid. Of course the answer was yes. The answer was yes from the moment she'd realized she was in love with him. But it was so soon, so unexpected. Modern couples dragged their courtship on through years of living together, and here he was behaving as if they were about to run off to the ends of the earth together and had to get it all settled quickly. She hesitated for a moment, looking into his eyes. What was she waiting for? A sign from above? Oh, it was going to be work, but when had she been afraid of work?

"Yes." she said, her voice a shocked whisper. "Yes, I will. Oh, Ben, yes."

**Author's Note: All done. If I'm ever in a better mood, there may have to be a totally sappy wedding story. With crime, of course. Always with the crime.**


End file.
